Who speaks in anger and rage
who paints in these bold colors
Who are the angels who walk among us
But never speak their name
Who whisper white
And we only see them walk away
Why is there no middle ground to wait upon or stand
A fence with both sides of green
Yet still the same
Only to confuse the issue
Who is speaking now
Only with necks of truth
To us we scratch our head
Who paints in bold colors
Abstraction, distraction
Interruption there is none
Artists are many
Masters are few

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