The watchword of me is passion
The art of living is a painting
Of no discernable shape
Lines of color splashed upon the canvas
Crisscrossing without pattern or purpose
Confined by the edges of the canvas walls.
What if they could break free?
Fly from the canvas, so white and confining
And paint the whole world?
Color the lines that are already drawn
Splashing great shades upon dreary objects
Touching everything?
I want to paint the world
A child's paintbrush, free and innocent
Great strokes and gentle sweeps,
No rhyme or reason, just passion.
If I could break free of my canvas,
Paint the world, touch everything!
The watchword of the world would be passion
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