It's been like painting from memory,
But a memory that's not mine
I've been pushing paint where I though it should go
Trying to pick hues to compliment colors that I have yet to see
Painting spring when all I've ever known is fall
And winter was the expectation
Aren't we all so sick of always falling short?
I have been for some time
So let's leave words for the defining,
And let brushstrokes guide the titles
We've been summed up too neatly by old tittles
That we thought bestowed insight
This life is more than what you claim
My only concern is how I define: "peace of mind"