My world
My world is colour
The artist in me splashed all
Over the white canvas
And run-off's dropp into words
A creative spirit's bursting shower
Of white blood
His heart opening wide
Red and fiery for his muse
To join into the orange glow
Of a bit of dying
While the writer's pen
Clasped between his fingers
Emerges from the dusk
Challenged to a dialogue
In a never - ending stretch of road
That winds around the artist's
Inner core
Like raking vines onto the
Wooden slatted retreat.
My world is colour
With ever - changing hues.
Zoltan Zelan
(c) ZJG-POetry 2011.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem