Third draft of Loud Paintings
Swirling and slicing through the white it builds
Swallowing your senses in traps of texture—
It whirls you in. The strokes sing as they fill
Your ears, until you hear only questions.
You fall into the cacophony of paint;
Tornados of hues rushing through and past—
It turns the so-called world grey and faint,
As canvas pulls you in and holds you fast.
Your answers it holds, hidden in smears of Sirens’
Colored song, almost known—Silence.