Textures

Gray days, what unwelcome easel, mixing
Splotches for its masterpieces made such
Blotches on the canvas today, fixing
Faces, taut and tired, feeling out of touch?
Do moods pervade the universe, creating
Color to match their fashion for the day,
Valor submerged in dark dominating
Dirges affecting all they do or say;
The next, a manic melange of vivid
Hues, too bright to burn, a pulsed potpourri
Fused with madness from a maker livid
His art won't mirror all there is to see?
Thus textures, the blind blandly criticize
And miss His mural meant for musing eyes.

--Carduelis Tristis

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