There is a white elephant in the room.
Some days I paint it red
crimson smears of finger fury;
another day of gray smoke escapes the trunk.
Some days I paint it blue
aqua rays of hopeful sadness
another day drowns in lies.
Most days I leave it white, on the edge of opaque.
Some days I walk right up to you, tip-toe around
the wrinkly skin creased by unsaid words
and I nearly have the strength to unfold you.
The whiteness of the elephant,
drives us all mad.
I can't paint you any longer
or tip-toe through the room.
The whiteness will sink like a heavy anchor
rusted and not-trusted.
Comments