Concerning Paintings Poem by Gavin Robinson

What secrets lie buried between the four corners of my mind?
Nerve synapses, neurological wiring...
What power does it all hold?

Were I to believe in something,
would it be true?

Were I to feel one way or another,
would it come to fruition?

And were I to gaze into the colorful strides of a canvas,
would I sit behind the oak door?

Peaceful and present,
as the azalea bush sways in the breeze.

Would the flush of water beneath the horizon peak my interest?
Perhaps…

Yet maybe, I'd cower behind the sun-kissed pine
and watch as a grizzly
moseys toward the quarry.

Were I to harness this force,
would I be happy?