Afternoon musings in an old bedroom of mine.
There's a spot on my wall that wasn't there before,
And a cobweb to join it.
From corner to corner I can see it all,
This world upon my ceiling.
Does it have confusion like the world around me?
Does it harbour pain so readily as my own?
Or is it perfect, in every way, a home,
Away from home.
My eyes begin to focus on that dirty little spot,
And then is slowly dawns on me, that this is not,
The only marking left upon the canvas.
Many more make up the spread.
Life is not one colour.
Not one shade.
Not one spot.
And that we should all be grateful for what we got.
And so there remains a spot on my wall that wasn't always there before.