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Art

It’s hard to find a start
It sounds so  easy like
Make a mess and call it art
No one
Just the artist understands
With a little help it
Sits on the wall
For years
collecting dust
Wanting to be brushed
Waiting to be felt With
Taken down or be destroyed
Waiting to be dealt with
It Could
Be just misunderstood
Pure thoughts
Never spoken good
Well,
Sometimes
Things get written down right
A few shots
The artist gets back in to the fight
Find the light
Inebriated
it is a start
Wake up In the morning
Put back together
the pieces that fell apart
Call it art
What is broken
But  never lost
Memories
Priced with out a cost
Inspiration with no end
Time used to be my friend

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