Brush

Who are you, 

Stranger in the street? 

A thousand little universes

And possibilities

Wrapped inside a secret place.

What do you

Bury deep down? 

Are there worlds

That you keep hidden

To yourself? 

Did you know

When you walk by

A symphony erupts

Inside my brain? 

Your face is morphed 

And changed

Into the hero

And the villain. 

You are marked with the stain

Of a writer's brush 

As you walk silently by, 

Oblivious to the 

Changes that have 

Taken place. 

Your life isn't scarred

By black and white

Shackles. 

You are free

In this city of granite. 

But tomorrow

You will be

But a memory.