paint.

the world is a canvas of brightly colors, fading away as the rain washes it down the drain
"you want me to paint?"
so i did... the only way i know how
the canvas became a page of words, and the paint, a pen.
i labored over the master piece, and when i was done, i declared:
'what God tells me, i will give out, pour down like rain,

it is called poetry; the lyrics of the soul.