Traces of hues on the tips
of my fingers, stunningly
portrays an outlook of
blathering thoughts that
shouts inside me
Waiting for bits of beauty
But changes through time
To an unwanted piece of ugliness
Turquoise hesitates to change her
State into worthless matter
Thus the brush obeys
her part , to a ravishing, everlasting art.
Once a glance , then forever a stare
The happiness glares through the blues , whites, and the eternal Turquoise herself