Art Unmeant

Bit by bit
you unravel.
Old threads are replaced
by new.
Colors change,
at times by whim,
at times by design,
but not always yours.
No matter. You learn
to mix and match
and create new color combinations
so deftly no one notices
the work involved.
Art, unmeant,
but lived.

About this poem.

If indeed life is art, mine is jazz. A base melody full of improvosations. Not always dead on right, but often saved by the next note.

The picture was taken at the Hancock Shaker Village in the Berkshires of Massachusetts.

Tom