painter
Learn more about other poetry terms
As ink ridden eyes
Gaze into white skies
The world, a canvas
The painter, relentless
The brush he holds
A stroke of gold
A painter knows it's love
When they see the art in everything you do.
When they know you're a masterpiece
And they want to study every inch of you.
When they want to feel your every edge
A sorrowful painter never shows their work, wrapped in memories, connecting words unspoken.// Aching with attention, craving another stroke of the brush, gently gliding over rough canvases.// Leaking misery the paint drips, along with your
I measure every Canvas -with introspected eyes-
I wonder if it will fit- my beautiful Disguise.
I wonder if Some see the beauty-or just what it’s worth-
I write because I fight with words. I write because when I write I can be heard when there's no one else to listen and nothing else to do, not a verb else. When I write my sentences are fragmented but my thoughts are complete. Through.
