My brush flies across my canvas of words,
A story I am painting.
What does it say?
How can I know, I can’t think.
All I do is feel,
That painting of words.
The story I can’t speak,
It’s just there on my canvas of words.
Never reading, always seeing.
Do you see the story,
Just thrown on my canvas of words?
It’s there and I can feel it,
I can’t think it but it’s there.
And now it’s flown off my canvas,
My canvas of words.
In to the world as a story,
The way I have written it, have painted it.
The writing turned in to pictures,
A vision to all.
No understanding necessary,
You can’t see it with your thoughts.
My canvas of words,
This painting has no name.
Just a moving picture,
Frozen on my canvas, my canvas of words