Empty faces,
papers -
picture clear.
Glossy
glances of life
between pages.
Cycles, circles -
time in pupils.
Blank, yet soulful
like the blackness
up in space.
Full of dreams
that can never
escape.
We are half drawn,
splashes of color on canvas.
Life keeps drawing,
sketching scenes,
brushing against,
around us,
forming lines
and limitations.
We linger in the lines
holding close the colors
reaching out
to touch the portrait next to us.
Color in our lives a moment
the baby reaches for the brightest
the child looks for her favorite
grandmother remembers the first flower
grandfather thinks of her eyes
When will we'll be this hue again?
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