Broken brush

It's like I'm a painter

Who can no longer hold the brush

Is no longer fluent with the colorant stain

And through certainly there are other forms

Of acrylic and enamel and oil

All of which are not and the same

It hurts the soul most deeply today

And with great force I am hit

By the understanding that I can no longer paint

The young man in me remembers still

But I am not the same

Never the same