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...
My paintings had a radiance of their own; Some even better than the best pieces known; And no, words so golden weren't mine, On every lips, they seem to did shine;
Somehow this fellow Scarlet Saw my works and didn't even fidget; Her eyes traced my every brush stroke, And with her grin, my smirks broke;
Her canvas' back held grace I could never muster; I could even see specks of imaginary lustre; And when her canvas flipped, All my expectations slipped.
:::
My mornings curl up in gloom, Like every day is doom; Even though this day is no different, I stand persistent;
Maybe I won't be belittled today, Maybe I'll see a hope's ray; No matter what I thought today's interview would get, I never assumed it to be Scarlet;
She stands on the porch Of the expensive wood I fear I'll blotch; An unsure smile laces her lips, As a switch in me flips.
:::
Heya, peeps!Comment what you think of this part. And don't forget to vote! :)
