Question not the canvas but the paint
Typically
iT
stems from a root.
That grows
With strength
knowing exactly
what to do.
Instinct
Mixed with
Blessings
Drag the summers
Into a loop.
Winter
Being a slave
To the cold
hail & rain.
Sunshine.
Can’t wait,
To break through.
The cycles
Don’t change
Just the view
Of the range ,
Where the seed plants
And leans towards,
Always shows
iT’s intent,
& iT’s plead
For the truth.
Where iT starts
And where iT goes
Shouldn’t mean a thing,
Just make sure
What you water & feed
(With love)
Blooms…
