Who am I?

now I'll tell you of my canvas,
a page where colors mix and bleed,
disconnect and bend...
Some clash and blend.
burst then recede.

and if this canvas turns dreary
with grayish hues,
in places tears left black and blue,
exposing empty places
an ensemble mixture of blues.

Oh, I can't make sense of it all!
so many scattered arrangements
color my easel..
at a glance a vain carousel
still winding blind disagreements.
.....................................................
attractiveness rests in madness;
a genius dreams , an opus made.
outside an Indian Summer
forlorn on canvas and paper
struggles with harsh truth, he must fade.

.........................................................................


again its time to turn a page.
afraid of what I might find there,
for colors have yet to arrive
how I long to escape, to dive
into yesterday and stay there.