Still Life

There, on my sideboard, Is a collection of artist's Paintbrushes, the ones I haven't used for a year. They rest quietly in an Old coffee jar all waiting To feel wanted again, to Create something new. Like humans they are all Different sizes and heights And each has it's own purpose in life. Unlike humans there is no Animosity, no stress, no Desire and no hatred as They patiently wait Tucked between an old Wedding photo and a pot Plant, and under a painting Of a yacht in full sail. Yet they're all now connected Spinning through time fused In regard to other inanimate Objects on my sideboard, Connected in completeness, And like humans, brought to Life when thought of or needed In life's tidal ebb and flow.