Frozen, broken, calm

 The zone of silence, the comfort of withdrawal;

that was how 

I spent  the night of the soul.

The dawn was serene.

the distance was scary.

I dipped the brush with resolve

into the colors. 

Splashed'm on the palette,

my demons slept. That was the day I turned to the canvas.

The first wash was a bath in grey.

The sea was raging within.

The horizon stunned,

randomly.

And next was the wave of a reckless fury.

I was the river, the sea, the challenge to resist

the ocean, the unbending storm and the rain.

The sea was all around me

Memory picked up the sandstorms,

and the breakers came to crash on rocks.

I let the brush slide on its own

until a wave surged, spinning with the wave

my brush took on the 

the drastic change.

I was pushed aside,

and the brush made errors

feverishly.

Bewildered, fatigued, I stopped. In the withdrawn silence 

of the pause.

I saw what I had failed to see. 

Before my eyes a happy error had transformed the turbulent sea.

I was in the presence of a wave, surging, frozen, 

broken, calm.

I left the canvas and went back to sleep.