will sketches
in the rough
wait until
get home
worked up
or will light
perceptions tones
angles shift
into perceptions lost
cheapened
by memory
moments
diluted
to mediocrity?
most will
won't wait?
seize one or two
in frenzy quickly
in sure bursts
of volcanic electric
strokes keep
colour heat light
shadow shading
in head drawing
building
on outlines
vision mounting?
artist won't
can't forget
images
so vivid
intense
sown into
heart
speaking
from
liquid soul
heart mind merges
but oh
soft
wet
greens
dripping
melt
evaporate
diffused
into mists
grey cloudy
skies swift
washed out
intensity
brain swift
loses grasp
upon dimensionalities
sudden insights
soon begins
unguarded
blur blur
blurring blank?
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem