“What need is there to weep over the parts of life?
The whole of it calls for tears.” Seneca
There are finite ways to draw I love you and infinite ways to mix sensate colours of emotion I reach out in the depths of glazed sadness, craving for a canvas and a dreaming inspiration, yet like a finished masterpiece all that remains is an image, pretty, admired but no longer quested languishing obediently like a painter’s brush strokes or a cascade of words, in a consolation of inadequacy. perhaps Seneca was right? (c) Terry B. Lee
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