Thu, 10/01/2015 - 22:29 -- jcubow

These vertical floors constrain thought;

Internal desires are now fought,

Tides surging splatters all around

The artists mind, no reward found.


Each color streams grey from pallettes:

Reflective of four walls of white

alongside shadows of darkness.

Imagination is heartless.


The call beyond the window shrieks,

Release me out into the wild!

Blood passion boils and it peaks;

To nature, I am its own child.


Blink back into the human pose:

A dull moment cornered in prose.

The call dims down as my heart slows

back into pace with the bellows.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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