Tis day 3 of #NaPoWriMo and I have had my first scare. A busy day, and busy mind with few words forthcoming I thought I might not get something before midnight, but alas failure shall not have it’s triumph this day. My shortest piece, this one is called…
Even the chaos of a Jackson Pollack is on a canvas.
So concerned with being outside the box,
we fail to realise that even the box is somewhere.
That once you climb outside of it,
you are still in something else.
We hate restriction.
Chastise any lung that does not bellow freedom.
I am surprised we still produce lined paper.
Yet the lines of this paper do not produce an understanding,
in minds for what restriction can do.
Wanting to break down every wall,
when some should stay up for us to paint on.
This is not a poem about immigration.
God did not lay down his canvas with our borders.