the vast blue canvas
stretches beyond my field of vision.
i have the crayons,
a palette of all kinds of paints,
varying girths of brushes;
all i have to do is choose
the right hues
that go with my soul
and then over the canvas
my hand gracefully rushes .
YOU ARE READING
Fatuous Poems
PoetryA bunch of really senseless, terribly pointless poems written for ephemeral pleasures of putting words out there. Somewhat short and shorter poems, wannabe-haikus, randomly scribbled thoughts found inside.
