If I Were an Artist

If I were an artist, I might paint how I feel
A picture of a cloudy day when life seems so unreal
If I started I would soon find I do not have enough blues and greys
For those fine lines of pain that pour into life like summer rain
And seems to last for days

If I were an author, I'd write what life really means
And I would use beautiful words to say what I can't see
In the dictionary I would find that no one has really found the words
For experiences of dreams, my life cannot be what it seems
It's not at all like what I've heard

All the days of yesteryear cast a shadow on my mind
Everything that seems once was has now changed with the times
And the hazy mist of life has faded until I cannot see
That which is really me is locked in time without a key
I touch only what touches my mind

If I were a sculptor, I might choose the finest stone
And carve a timeless masterpiece, the face of all unknown
A face I've never seen, from a stone that crumbles into sand
And washes out to sea and flows throughout infinity
Just beyond my finite hand