Watching Paint Dry
Sometimes watching paint dry,
Can captivate, or make you cry.
The drips and runs of excess paint,
Tumble down wholesome cheeks and taint.
The impatient trickle, that has no time to waste,
The languid wall expectant, craving haste.
To stare and see the faults and flaws,
Of saints and sinners, nuns and whores.
A horsetail lashing, where a brush stroke dissolves,
The edges aren’t neat but the texture evolves.
I see it evaporating and it happens fast,
The present moment, not designed to last.
Store up the senses of staring at a plain wall,
Then close your eyes and feel the wonder of it all.
Messy, difficult, boring and plain,
Pouring, dripping, soaking like rain.
Watching paint dry can make you smile,
You just need to sit with it all for a little while.