A blank canvas to grace the barren floor,
Dust once settled, now disturbed.
A quiet whistle of wind through cracks
Brings peace to some, but to others, agony.
Silence a rare pleasure to the artist's work,
What mysteries splash upon the page?
Each drop of misery an intricate design,
A montage of questions and prodded secrets.
Unwrap the foil on destiny bittersweet,
Through tunnels winding in utter blackness,
Ride upon a paintbrush dancing
In the murky juices of berries quashed.
This canvas no longer white and pure,
Spidery ink curls end to end,
Dripped out from wounds and scars reopened.
Behold, a truly bloody masterpiece.
Author notes
A rarity where I had a title to work with before the poem was written
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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This was... just... whoa. The graphic imagery, the choice of words. It really did read wonderfully. Words like quashed and misery and montage - they don't get enough play, and it's good to see them used so well here.
I'll shame-facedly admit I can't quite figure out what this masterpiece is - but I enjoyed the visual ride I was taken on all the same.
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