My mind wanders to the square glass
and bounces off like a fly trying to escape the grey colorless landscape,
rebuffed by a transparent barrier.
Its efforts increasingly frantic
as it fails to escape to the outside monochrome.
A buzz of lights and wings.
So too does my mind long to escape the drudgery
of square cubicles, square screens, square minds stuck in endless tracks.
A man becoming a cog.
There must be other colors, other shapes, other textures but this fuzzy blur
Of living without really living.
I see the doodlers on the subway.
Pencils busy, eyes intense, as they work to transfer what they see
Color blooming on a blank page.
I pass the galleries where crowds surround creation with bated breath.
Experiencing the fleeting moment like a rare treasure.
I search for the creative spark within myself
a flame, a fire lighting up the long dead pathways of the mind,
burning the fog and long dead cobwebs
until the labyrinthine grey is alight with color.
Until I am alive again, a thing of texture and feeling
