The Idea of Musings

It was his hands that made 
Stubborn strokes fade out of denim.
He measured the hour in colors.
He was the sole gardener of curiosity
in which he hoed. When he stared, 
The seeds took roots that became adoration.
That was his vision, for he was the painter.
Then I, spying as a daisy, beheld him thinking there alone
I knew that there was a world for us in the emptiness of his canvas.

Independent learner and lover of subtleties. I identify my analytical mind in philosophical terms and would like to believe it generates in this way, not to bring me harm, but to bring awareness of how individuals and groups act in society. All thoughts are discovered within. I aim to spread love and promote the acceptance of Self. May you feel comfort with my observations of this world. View all posts by seleneofthesky