Can You

Can you paint the wind?
Can you make it warm or cold,
Fast or slow?
Can you smell it?
The warm summer breeze,
Lightly tossing your hair,
Honey suckle and dad burning steak.
Can you paint the wind?

Can you paint love?
The union of souls,
The beating of two hearts
Merging into one?
The way your skin moves
When your eyes feast,
On the one you love?
Can you paint love?

Can you paint pain?
Heart breaking agony,
The way it tastes?
The darkness of loss,
Mixed with the anger
Of remaining alone?
The illusion of hope.
Can you paint pain?

We can.
Without ever holding a brush,
Without the first stroke,
Without color or form.
No canvas, no paint.
We can paint.
We paint everything you can,
And then we paint,
The things that make up,
What it was
That you were painting.

We are slowly fading away.
We are being pushed out.
Replaced with things of the eye,
For if you can not see it,
It must not be so.
We that tap into,
The last sense,
The secret sense,
We that dare to dream.
Imagination