You can run free in the land of democracy
But unless you free your mind, wherever you go
Yourself staring back at you, you find
The day I picked up a child’s toy brush
Was the day my mind broke free
Riches lived inside my head spilled out
Onto the page, living a coloured life of joy
Sadness and sorrow transformed itself
Brush stroke by brush stroke with each dip
Into the pigments of imagination’s playground
And washed away with the watercolours on the page
The hurt and fear of early years dripped down
The brush and onto the eager waiting page
Each music note had colour in my head
And the gaudy kaleidoscope of song
Spilled out onto the white paper covered
Oh so quickly with so many coloured images
Sometimes I wonder what it is that other people see
And if they miss the shifting scene of colours
That is such an integral part of me
Distant countries, scenes and shores each
Clamour for their own individual space
Shifting colours go with each and every place
Analysis and concentration define the quality of light
As unique as ancient architecture the colours play
Out a symphony of harmony specific to that land
And, for me, the magic of travel translates in my hand
The love of water and its magic flow, pigment-tinted
On the empty page, echo water’s call within my soul
The deepest love I’ve ever had is that of creating
A world contained within my head that flows
With brushstrokes or with words lightly onto
Paper that holds it in its tender embrace
I think that is the greatest gift an artist knows.
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