What Time Does To Paint
I never thought about what time does to paint.
I never thought about how time makes art talk.
I never thought about art at all.
Museums were once an abandoned theater.
Quiet, empty, nothing but footsteps and apathy.
No connection was found, they weren’t meant for me.
But If I could have heard them talk then, I would have known otherwise.
Choruses full of clarity and change, lectures full of laughter, but they were in a frequency I couldn’t decipher.
There were colors I couldn’t see nor hear.
This is what time does to paint but I never knew.
The colors may fade, but the paint keeps talking.
With every passing day, the stories continue to radiate.
But the words never change, only I do.
Each day the words make more sense.
Each day I learn something new.
The paint talks to me now and I listen I have much to learn so I never talk back.
Stories I never thought I’d hear.
Stories from those that aren’t here anymore.
The paint will always talk.
The art will always be alive.
The artist lives forever.