counting brushstrokes like days
painting with the colors found in rain
waiting for a change in season to wash it all away
so that i may investigate new ways of being
and despite all obstacles find reason to keep breathing
choosing to stand on uneven land, subjected to hope
the power of life, submissive to no consequence
in the core of the demon and eye of the hypocrite
two faced friends and traitors weave their end
victims of their own devising
needing no god to find true enlightenment
pure in heart, a man can be his own muse
so i’m left to second guess absolutes ingrained
while counting my brushstrokes and painting with stains
