Poems of Life

Bleeding Colors

You were the artist,
I was the muse.
You painted my heart,
It was only for you to use.
With every stroke of a brush,
And with every touch ,
You made my picture more complete.
I only wish I knew I didn't have to compete.
Up on a pedestal,
I stood high,
For all to admire
You looked me in the eye,
But at the end of the day,
When the spotlight went out,
You let me down,
And would only shout.
I was never good enough,
But I tried to be tough.
Every day
You gave me a blow to the heart,
And called it your new piece of abstract art.
They looked and all they saw,
Was beauty upon the brush,
Yet with all the awe,
They couldn't see
Beyond all of the bleeding colors,
But I guess that's all you wanted,
To impress the others.
The tears streaming down my face were blue,
And all you saw was another hue.
One day you got a call,
I said I was going to wash it all,
Away with all the colors I said,
All of the blues,
All of the reds.
I'd take all of my colors from you.
You said this wasn't fair,
And told me it was all in my head,
But I said isn't art worth more,
After the muse is dead?