The colours stain the page,
The colours of my memories.
They make a beautiful sunrise,
Blues and pinks and purples.Leaving behind that house
my parents bought on loan
was probably the hardest thing to do,
Leaving behind hose memories too.That house,
Was the one I grew up in,
The one I knew for seven years
of my life as a child.Now when I go with my family
To the in-roads at Green Street,
I remember the house
And the memories and sunken thoughts.Years have passed
And we had to sell it
But still, My heart bleeds
And yearns
As the colours scatter everywhere
On the page.The ink
Bleeds through the page
As I colour my thoughts
Transferring them to paperBut no one will know
what the painting means
Or any of the others
That stand idly in the room.No one understands
My outlet, my art.
No one understands
Why I paint my emotions.If only they saw
Life the way I saw
Then I wouldn't be standing here
Thinking, paintingIf people knew how it felt
Then why do we write stories?
If people knew how it felt,
Then why do we compose songs?
If people knew how it felt,
Then why do we paint on blank canvases?We know what they're going through and
We may let rebel tears roll down our cheeks
But we never do feel what hardships
They battle through.They could be in a storm
With the waves crashing in a blunder
And the lighting and thunder booming loudly
As the boat begins to give up,Sinking to the bottom of the sea
Where it becomes an old shop wreck
That breathes no more
And they feel the water
Tightening their airways.But we wouldn't know how they feel
Until we experience it ourselves
And that's the saddest thing.
Not knowing what others go throughAs the bird sits carelessly on an
Electricity wire that runs from house to house
It jolts and dies
From locked up knowledge they never learnedSo no one understands
My story, my pain,
And although it's not as hard
As losing someone you'd loveIt's still losing a part of you.
Giving up something,
Losing that part of you foreverThat house that stands there,
With the big blue door,
It holds so many memories,
And the place I learnt to draw.The place I learnt to paint,
And express my emotions
Through literature, poetry
And art.So I sit at my desk,
Painting with the brush.
Every stroke has an emotion
A carefully placed streak
of colour and type.The ink
Bleeds through the page
As I colour my thoughts
Transferring them to paperAnd the colours stain the page,
The colours of my memories.
They make a beautiful sunrise,
Blues and pinks and purples.As my heart bleeds
in envy and sorrow
At lost memories
Of the past.A/N
Longest poem. Peace.~Lillian
YOU ARE READING
➵ Midnight Thoughts | ✔︎
PoetryRandom, collated thoughts put to paper through emotion and expressions, and a mind that works it's flow. Love, Lillian x x Disclaimer: this is purely my own work. if my lines seem similar to other poems, this is purely coincidental. some poems/boo...