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.