White Noise
As I sit before this big white mirror
Textured canvas of the seer
Does it reflect a vision dear
Perhaps bright light of moments past
Will this be the matrix of such thin and fragile glass?
This blank slate awaits
It craves my brush with human lust
Shall the mark I make be filled with hope?
Shall it state all that cherished fate?
Perhaps that moments passed
Now it is too late
In waiting have I lost my faith
A white solid door
Behind wide closed eyes runs the pigment of desire
Passions lost
Paid at such a human cost
I can paint no more
Texture rough with tooth
This shall hold such naked truth
Reaching from creative core
Paint
Paint until there is no more
Paint the greed
War that
Turned man into its wretched whore
Stark and white
Foreboding wall rising high
I hear your demanding cry
You'll leach from me until I am barren and devoid
Of empathy
A brush held worn and muddied
Shed hairs of youth
Glued in bondage
A creator's truth of lost creative
Time
White noise of conscience
Driven to produce
A golden mean
A perfect vision
Balanced and pristine
The value humanity has lost
A palette of such wanton waste
Paint
Paint the lines now etched into
Earths face
S. M. Smith
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