Tasks are but uncompleted bits,
life yet to be done,
that don’t beckon us at the moment.
We find other toils to fill the void.
We keep weaving our collage,
never afforded the luxury
of knowing when it will be finished.
Colors paint me in reds and gold,
words flowing in and over a silent tongue.
Hues of blended colors I can’t control.
A canvas gone wild in a body of slow decay.
Any thoughts?