Tuesday, February 24, 2009

MR messy-head and the colored hills... chapter 1

When i was younger (makes me feel old when i say this) i use to write stories and poems all the time. I had always considered myself an artistic soul using different mediums to tell a story be it song, the written text, or the colors of a palette. Sometimes you drift away from some skills that once had but lets look at this post as a return to my artist virtue of the written text. Ladies and Gentleman i present to you the chronicles of MR Messy-head and the colored hills.

In the curving roads of gray ash rock
a painter by the name of MR messy head,
sat alone enjoying his daily bread
pondering and wondering lost in thought

All passing never-looking and never asking
all quite and trotting along their own path
never stopping, even for awhile for a quick laugh
no other sound but the sound of shoes walking.

Then Mr messy-head's thoughts reached farther
to place where his thoughts never travelled before
ideas and dreams never once was he after
a place filled with colors so bright, the eyes it sore

In an instant that thought was lost
and back he was to the shades of grey
and sounds of shoes that play everyday
and the lives that hardly ever cross

starring at his paintings no different then past
all the same nothing really changed or out of place
glimpses of moments highlighted only gray in shades
nothing that capture or truely til the end last.

"what if i were to find a different color?"
the same as the lost thought, lost not so long
soft hues and tones neither weak nor strong
but just right in its comfort and splender

"where could i possibly look?"
for no color existed other than gray
for the word itself knows no other shade
maybe somewhere over the ashy brook?

Mr messy-head packed his bag
filled it with brushes and empty tins
two loafs of bread and an apple for later supping
and a big travelling hat with a tip that sag.

A place far off he wishes to go and see
a place beyond what is normal and safe
hopefully no where near the sea
a story deeply buried since he was a waife.


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