❝ 𝑺𝒉𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒑𝒂𝒑𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒏𝒐𝒘 ,
Oh how I wish ink will spill ,
To cover the pain of the blank canvas—
In front of me to distract from anguish .
𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒄𝒊𝒓𝒄𝒍𝒆𝒔 ,
With the eagerness to discover ,
A pen to draw a line wherein ,
Its path unveils a world within .
𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐚𝐥 ,
Are illustrations of a future's story untold ,
Brushstrokes rejected by a canvas of gold ,
Requiring more than a miserable smear or soil .
𝐈𝐟 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 ,
Wherein the stars would move aligned ,
And when this movement would cease to a lone hum ,
The message would make itself known, projected on a sign .
𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐯𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 ,
Awaiting its owner's return in fervour ,
Craving the strength and inspiration until—
The painter's name be labeled a preserver . ❞
YOU ARE READING
𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞
Poetry❝ Within the heatwave of the burning inferno, Once a lively heart beating, now melted from heat. What used to be vibrant colours of summer painted, Became a sloppy canvas of frigid hues, Of life's essence beginning to fragment; Portraits of memories...
