The default setting

When the poem
           doesn’t come together
I put down the words
           and pick up the paints
and when the colours disobey me
           and run riot all over the canvas
I never know what to do
           Someone once told me
Just let them be
           the colours and the words
they will find their own way
           if you just let them be

At the moment my fingers
           are reeking of turpentine
and I don’t know
           whether to paint
or to write
           or do neither

I had a thought
           that the default setting
of our souls
           is love
and that we are to live
           as roses do
rooted in the soil
           aspiring to beauty

John Lyons