Poetry By Me

Art

We fill these

Empy voids,

With mindless toys.

We make believe, 

That we know how to grieve.

We write,

We paint,

We sing,

And we create

Because what more do we have?

We are not promised

A single thing in life,

But our creations are what

Is holding the knife.

Without them we are bland,

A never ever smile land.

We would cry, 

Just for the hell of it all,

Because it would be all we had.

Robots born out of nothing,

Achieving even less.

It becomes nothing but a 

Mindless quest.

Gray, 

it would all fray.

Black,

A sad little shack.

white,

A never ending fight.

And brown,

We would all just be clowns,

If we were never 

Allowed

This blessing

Of color 

And luxury of art.

L.O.M