[The following wonderful poem was kindly shared with us by 11-year-old Hannah Jenkyns. When you come back to the land of thought, please show your appreciation and encouragement by clicking on the 'Like' button or leaving a comment at the bottom of the page. You can sign into the comments section with your Facebook or Google account or just leave a comment anonymously. Enjoy!]
It makes me happy allowing myself to spread on paper.
That's where I want to belong,
With many other colours of the rainbow,
Showing off my beautiful flow of colours,
But the home I live in,
I can't possibly try to reveal my beauty.
The familar smell of wood
Seeps into my natural ingredients
Of leaves, stone and stones
As I make a mixture of pale and strong marks.
Brushing oil, powder and poster paint
Onto the paper,
Which I am on,
Makes me bubble with fury
Because of the unattractive marks
That are as hard to get off
As crimson red wine on a pure, white, snowy wedding dress.
I am a completely different style to them.
As I begin to dry
I fail at painting
A new piece for the galleries.
I am packed away
In the home I don't want to be in....
In the dark, dusty pallet.
For thousands of years
Sounds of the brushes
Dip daintily in the water.
But making loud noises as they come out,
Packed with small particles.
Now feelings of hope and joy slowly drift out of me ....
I'm only left with my soul.
"My life is a creative act - like a painting, or a concerto." Ram Dass
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