Painting Time A Poem by Painting Time

I’m wasting colours, painting time,
Throwing the pen in the air,
Slicing okra in the orange-faded
Kitchen, watching the thirds tessellate
Like broken stencils in the colander.
The metal fades, so I drag the blinds
And unscroll the curtains to see rain
Slipping down the windows.

The Song? Tapestries of water
Drops, puddles, oceans, casting lullabies,
I try to follow – but my voice dies,
They whisper the tune until I forget.

Everything turns to dust:
I can tell you I will, not when,
There are shapes in the shadows,
One day the light will go out
And the shadows will spill.

She worries about your future,
Whether you have everything or nothing,
The world is dangerous, mad for things,
People fight for land, oil, metal,
Things that will turn to dust, one day,
She lays you close to her heart,
Cradling your tiny, porcelain hands.

The truth?
She cannot protect you from life,
Only join you in death,
Rising away.