Just when we think we die
As we close our eyes
That is when we wake up to find
that we are still alive, just changed
From shards to prisms, fire to ashes
A new masterpiece redefined and rearranged
The edges falling together
Coming apart, to clash again
Bending the colors and the perception, hoping to mend
The colors stain, the hearts remain
As we walk down a repaved lane
We aren't who we thought we are
But something more than the words can define
We aren't a definition of the human race
We are a recolored vase
We are the artists of ourselves, and ourselves only
Mistakes and flaws extending to something much more
As we let the beauty and potential flow from our core
The lonely nights, the suicidal thoughts
to the memories of jovial times and cherished memories
aren't what makes us who we are
but a part of our art.
The finishing product is us.
And it isn't finished yet, still a work in the making
Till death do us part, our art will be not a legacy
but a way we can still live for eternity
From shards to prisms, from the shades of black and white
From the sidewalks to the dancing in the streets
From colors and vibrant hues of our paints
and the pale hues and shades.
We are writers, we are artists, we are athletes, or
for all we know more than that.
More than anything that can be fathomed
The dark days are over, as the stars come to show
So take a bow aspirers
The saviors of our generation and human race
The glory will fade, but our minds will take the reins
As long as our veins fluctuate
Carve, etch, sketch, and write
The snap of the pencil lead.
Us trekers blazing trails and treads.
Climbing trees and claiming empires
Turning our faults and miseries to something a little more sweet
***
"The people who say it is impossible should stop interrupting the people who are doing it."
YOU ARE READING
The Best is Created; Not Found
PoetryA collection of inspiring poetry (or at least I hope). I am new to the community and I hope that you enjoy my work! Will continue to stories later. ~_~
