Infinite Waves

Infinite waves halted, the imperfect storm

Murky hazes raise reasons to mourn

Settled in those greys, two windows let through

Space to transition into shades of blue

Clinched in solitude, new patterns form

Looking north where red and white are worn

Spinning palettes, nothing to grasp

Infinite waves, something of the past

Layers primed on broken shells

Waves in mind as concrete sells

Following the path of a distant pen

Nearby colours calling often

Shells below, pen in hand

Concrete behind, ahead, new land

Palette calmed by the brilliance of blues

Comforted alongside fiery hues

Their beauty, rhythm and styles falling in sync

He who spent a period revelling pink

Infinite waves released by the past

Onto a white canvas, an artist’s eyes cast.