I want to paint – the moment a blackout happens stopping all forms of twinkling light, sirens wailing battalions of injured soldiers on the beach of normandy and the condensation of when you breath in a gas mask.
I want to paint – the buildings that are still standing proud like a soldier, the rustling shrapnel on the Anderson shelter and the acrid smoke burning my lungs.
I want to paint – the bombs, who became murderers to the town, drop and devastate the city, spitfires rattling as well as soaring overhead and sadness from people sobbing salty tears.
I want to paint – the tree waving goodbye before it gets destroyed, the heat of flames to suddenly perish and the dust scattering around the shelters floor.
I want to paint – the cement of the buildings giving up, the glittering stars in the black sky and the explosions to finally stop.
I want to paint the end of this war.