Portraits

 I have been thinking about escapes from sadness into joy. Just as every new day has a dawn, the same way it goes for the night. It does not last unless we want it to. They say trough the dark hole nothing escapes or comes out on the other side. So strange. My mind can be like that or porous. Made of light and dark. 

Uh-oh! Trouble comes but leaves no trace. The pen writes, I do not. The pen can sketch but I cannot. It can draw portraits in the sand and write words in the wind with black ink. The water colors. I cannot. Maybe one day.