Every little mood I'm in
colors every place I've been.

Spilling paint and splashing tints
imagination's subtle hints

of what fortunes soon will come
pretending that it's already done.

Tomorrows will all be like yesterday
painted in the very same way.

On they'll go and on and on
drudging on as they've begun,

and hope bleeds out like runny ink,
and I won't notice unless I think.

The paint for tomorrow is in my hand
the canvas white, clear on it's stand.

The colors will be fresh, the picture new.
It might be green, or pink, or blue.

© 2007 DarEll S. Hoskisson (dsh)