Completed. Poetry. Short story.
Amber was one of the best fine artists in town. Blessed with intelligence, she knew how to make the best use of her talent. Everybody loved her, her and her paintings.
When she was so perfect with her work, praises di...
(The stanzas in normal are in present, and those in italics are in the past.)
I was always good at art; It was my talent from which I could never part; I'll be honest when I say this, That my expertise was hard to miss;
It was a shame I had been still stuck in high school, And no, I ain't no fool; I knew I was smarter than the average in every sense, And no, I wasn't dense;
My art classes were always a bliss; I stayed away from any acts of remiss; But my paradise changed hues when I met Some unimportant fellow named Scarlet.
:::
I step out of the store, My hands shaking, and my feet, sore; I see myself getting soaked in rain And wonder where I lost my reign;
I shield my resume and sprint toward shade, Reaching there before my the colours of my shoes fade; I let out a breath and wait For colours to reclaim my fate;
As I go home with cold prickling at me, I wipe my tears and prepare some tea; My heart stiffens at the thoughts I still get About a certain somebody named Scarlet.
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Hello, peeps! Who do you think Scarlet might be? Comment your thoughts. And don't forget to vote! :)
