paintings

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his hand moved like the waves of the seas,
rocking and never taking a moment to pause,
a mixture of blues, grays and black,
his eyes saw more than what we did,
he knew there was more than what met
the eyes of a by-passer and there was more
to feel, to think, to be,
so many colors and shapes and lives,
this world held,
"if only they really stopped and looked,"
he thought,
as his hand held the brush,
and painted his thoughts.

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