There’s never enough paint!

The prime of life
painted
on the canvas mind,
thoughts splattered
by memories past,
the perspective wanders
the crooked mile
where grass is greener
over the barb wired fence.

In the mists of tears
overcome by clouds brushed,
haunted shadows run
in streaks of bold lines
where the timid hide
in good times lost:
in a hut,
the chimney smoking,
the window blurred,
a life moves.

While somewhere deep,
buried;
the signature lies
in time’s corner, fading
where blank whispers
blow in the wind....

the snow settles
on the sun shining-
the scarecrow grins,
a street sign reads tomorrow.