My Magnolia Walls

Sat here, in this chair
looking at my magnolia walls
wondering why I never hung a picture
or painted a vibrant colour.

I always thought of it
as my blank canvas
the time to decorate would come;
eventually. I'd bide my time till then.

So I've stayed in my chair
looking at my wood panel flooring
watching the dark thick dust cover
everything, even me, watching it settle

I've even watched, as condensation
trickles, making ripples down the window
all from my lounging position, watched
the growing cobwebs cover the panes

I feel like I am stagnating,
like the water in a mucky pool
can I pull myself out, am I strong enough
I'm sick of being the lonely, lady in the lake

So slowly it'd be painful to watch
I grip the chair arm and push away.
Finally, I am away from the chains
which gripped and bound me so painfully

my feet drag through the dust
as I walk toward those dusky windows
and I force, with a power I never knew I had
those rusty old latches open, and in floats the breeze

out blow those dark and shadowy cobwebs
the dust at my feet shudders in protest
it swirls around, awoken from it's slumber
interrupted in it's lazy, idle dreaming

and I'm moving now, towards the door
through it to the old cupboards.
There, no dig deeper, there found them
my sweeping brush and my pots of paint

So I sweep, and I remove the last
of those silky, snares of web,
remove the last of the dust.
I open the paint can and look up,

look up at my blank canvas and
pick up the pot, tear the lid off
and throw splashes and spatters of bright paint
upon the once bare, magnolia walls.