Passion, sweat, and pavement so hot,
My fingers blister against the bright colors
Concrete baked by the sun above, and reflecting
Back on me,
Pummeling my skin from above and below…
There is no gun against my head and still
I go on slaving in the street for you
And you, and the next and so on
Your smile, enjoyment, appreciation
Makes all the pain worth it…
As I tape my finder tips
To keep 110 concrete from
Making my fingers anymore
Well done than they are…
Why do we not realize that the colors
In our lives are so muted
And bleak, just because it's trendy
Until our senses are assaulted
By art, or chalk scattered on the ground
Offending our vision with such brightness
We are unaware why we are crying from it's beauty
As children, the experts say
We need color, to stimulate
Our brains and our development…
Why is it we stop?
Why is it that science and math
Become more than art and music?
Or poetry?
So I write
So I slave beneath the sun to spread
Bright chalks on the ground
For but a moment to take the
Light of the sun and reflect
The rich colors of the artist
Palate,
To touch the place where
Our humanity resides
Beyond our rationality
In our emotions.
For like poetry
Art is meant to make us FEEL
And whether we know it or not,
This will save us all…
Because too many
have gone numb in this world.
So I slave beneath the sun,
To chalk in colors,
To touch your soul
To make you feel…
Something,
Anything,
Because it's better
Than to walk through Life
Numb and wonder what's missing
And what went wrong…
We never know we are missing
Color until it strikes us…
Lighting up our brains
Like when we were children
Momentarily,
We are reborn.
This is why I am crouched
On the pavement
Blistering fingers
Smudged face
Sweat dripping
Like a slave,
For you
For me
For the moment…
Before the colors
Are washed away
And are nothing more
Than a memory.
