i met a man who could not see any colour. though i love to see colour, i didn't pity; the man with no colour was good as any. he lived his way, making this world his own. he wasn't disabled in any way. nobody knows what other senses he may have had. he wasn't talking about such things. perhaps there is no way to speak of unshared visions. we all walk alone.
BW Tree looking lonely on a hillside, black on white is all we see under blackened branches i see no distant stars even there we crave light, we are night-blind even in daylight we do not see so well from here, it looks like scenery of some kind these days, it seems so hard to find good scenery, a distant hillside and a black tree...
Black and White Barn all the colours that we need to tell a story... all the colours that we see make white. no colours at all make black. darkness is like silence to our eyes. a step this way, the point of view will change. this becomes that. and unreal becomes real. looking around corners: a question of seeing. any artist should know: seeing is not believing. but believing is a big part of creating. creating may require all the beautiful colours that there are.
down on the tile roof, a little damp remains... tropical rain sometimes so warm, sometimes it plugs the drains. wet tile roofs, that might not, blow away... as stories go, some things you cannot say. maybe her last trip ever, you never know. i hold my mouth and think again. words choke. they will not come. stuck in my throat. (life without some pictures) we are taught. some words must not be said you know. some thoughts must not be thought. down on the tile roof, a little damp remains... tropical rain sometimes so warm, sometimes it plugs the drains.
take me outside where i can hear the little birds singing like they're breaking my heart. take me outside where i can see still, dark tree shadows underneath a noonday sun. take me outside where i can hear water splashing, rushing over rocks in such a lively creek. take me outside where i can see a golden sunset above a remote and sandy beach take me outside
Black and White Lakeside some colours will tell us a story, a story we may like to forget. though a lake seems so pure, we can't be so sure. it's safer to see black and white a mill on a lake poisons more than you'd think so we'll leave out the colours tonight. some colours will tell us a story, a story we may like to forget.
Capitol shades of gray don't make her day she wants her colours back, i'd say she paints her stories in bright pain (don't ask to hear them once again) we offer black and white and gray her stories want more she will say shades of gray don't make her day she wants her colours back, i'd say