I Want To Paint…

I want to paint,

a silent, silver moon seeping through the streets, covering shadows like a star against the night sky,

the distance between intelligent invaders and brave battlers’ swords clashing together,

the taste of perfect peaches, taste bud tickling.


I want to paint

a garden blinding you with colour like the brightest rainbow,

a piece of cheese rotting at the back of the fridge as fast as a cheetah can run,

the sound of boats crashing like rocks exploding.


I want to paint the sunset like dying flames.

I want to paint the smell of acrid smoke drifting through the air.

I want to paint the clock ticking as fast as Usain Bolt.


I want to paint the end of this poem.

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