colours from my palette
bleeds
into frigid morning air
as I stay frozen
in front of my bare canvas,
looking out
I wanted to paint a mourning sky;
where I was
similar to the long naked limbs
adorned with
pastel puffs of cotton clouds
where birds stood out
like charms on loose branches
composing melodies
too bright
for the foggy vision.
I picked up a brush,
too thick for the season in her arms,
I picked another
too thin for her penumbra.
mixing silence with magenta,
oozed red
in shy giggles,
but was too contrast with purple already staining my senses.
one way or the other,
her laughing insignia were
too drastic for me to paint today.
but something held me close to the half white canvas;
as I hazily watched my brush strokes.
I found myself at peace
a marvelling imagery
put together
with few blunt slashes of colours.
winter had its way
of teaching me patience
YOU ARE READING
Ink Stains
PoetryA collection of musings from my heart that doesn't stick to a certain genre but mostly writes on heartbreak, depression, sadness, loneliness... of course masked under heavy abstract and metaphorical imageries. It might not be your simple poem to...
