My painted shoes

  • Work-from-home


Co Admin
Mar 15, 2007
My painted shoes
I have a paint brush in my secret workshop
A rusty easel and an empty canvas
At night they sleep but
Iam awake with light in me - its switched on
My shoes worn-out I paint thee
Blue ,yellow ,green, red --they color things
But I’m content with darker out-tones
Elsewhere I would survive
They detest the sight of my shoes
Ugly is the word they use
What is beautiful ?I ask
And ugly is what we wear
The odors of paints intoxicate
And rain wets my ears with silvery sounds
I hear from my eyes
What I saw from my ears
What my smile quivers is the secret revealed in my workshop
Awaken and alive all my sense dewy and fresh as snow
My shoes squeak
With wild movements
I shove my arms and my fingers are
Rhythmic on thee
One shabby patch
One broken lace
But singular in simplicity an beauty
And singular in ugliness that I wear
There’s a glow
My paints lucid and vivid
A reality revealed on my canvas
In silence a spark blazed and died
A pictured appeared at midnight
I was over
I was done my ugliness turned eternal in my art
I see, hear and feel
Thus you see
I painted thee
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