A momentary picture

We go toward the conclusion of this thing called life while experiencing bits of a puzzle we don't fully understand since it is so transitory.

As we rush toward a fate that is not meant to last, the shades of our passion form a picture of our past.

Youth is like a blank canvas; they feel fate's strokes without understanding what lies ahead.

Even as the reds of love beat within our hearts, the black shadows of hate, which rip the soul apart, take shape.

Greens of delight and joy, unimaginably lush grass, grief, hidden blue depths, and the rivers of despair.


We experience yellow screams of misery and pain.
Shame and guilt are like a torrential shower of gray colors.

We crave after earthy brown desires, which disappear as we get older, much as how chrome starts to rust.

The scene is continually changing as time passes slowly and takes on many shapes as dusk replaces morning.

We glance into a mirror to discover the answers we need, but nothing comforting appears as our eyes deteriorate and become feeble.

finishing touches are being added to a picture that was done with affection as we become aware that the destination is the gallery above...