People are more afraid of the fact the situation is beyond their control more so than what is happening to them.
He dipped his hand in the bucket
And his fingers disappeared
When they emerged he had
The colors of the rainbow there
He had the smile of a little boy
And with excitment went to
His wall and stuck his fingers there
He started painting a gorgeous picture
A little stroke here, a little there
He couldn't stop, he didn't want to
Painted every wall he had
Prettiest colors he could find
But then the time came to put it away
And he shut off the light
One last look and it was gone
He went to the sink and tried to
Wash it off, but came to find
It won't come off
He had painted his mind with memories
And they wouldn't go away completely
He looked down at his faded fingers
His hands were stained with love.
A part of me seems to be there while the other part is in another, better place.