She sells flowers in little bunches,
Sweet fragrances that please,
Delicate sepals of life,
That softly speak.

Bouquets of living colours,
Petals of inspiration,
Roses, chrysanthemums,
Daisies, carnations.
Accent blossoms, gerberas,
Lilies smiling in myriad hues,
Sunflowers a darling yellow,
Vibrant orchids in splendour blue.

With her touch, beauty breathes,
Glorious blossoms thrive,
Delicately arranged,
Floral expressions come alive.

For new love that slowly blooms,
For confessions yet to be said,
The finest of her finest,
She ribbons roses dark rich red.

Fond good health thoughts,
Through florals expressed,
She’ll wrap with gentle care,
With love’s tenderness impress.

She’ll weave wreathes and garlands,
Blends of wistful white, blues, pinks,
For memories left behind,
Now distant imprints.

In sweet scents, she colours days, months, years,
Walks alone each night when she is done,
Back home, no florid fragrance fills her senses,
To colour her world there is no one.

In endearing silence,
Exists the stillness of black and white,
The painter holds the palette against their chest,
And their heartbeat colours in the pigments,
As their brush strokes the canvas,
Droplets of light begin to surround you,
Like floating fireflies, or stars on earth,
And in your eyes, colour blooms,
You sit, framed, in black and white,
But the smile you wear when you stare at wonder,
Brings your colours back to life,
The painter captures a portrait,
Made from the paper of destiny,
A picture of you finding yourself,
As the silence waves goodbye,
Leaving behind echoes of your hopeful laugh.

Imagine me
unlocking your eyes
in such a way that
heaven and earth in their
full boundlessness
pour unto me,
osmosing into the depths
of my being

Imagine me
falling

             deeper


                                          into





                                                                                         you

We each sit in silence,
punctuated by the scrape of canvas,
and while it takes a while for me to hear you,
to taste the essence of you,
- slowly your aroma filters through
your curves,
your creases
and I cease to see your flesh and instead
I see the palette of you,
embedded in the greying of you,
waiting for this, this view,
this interpretation of you,
while you sit in your steady state
of quiet undress

All I have to do is paint a portrait of somebody being dead and he or she dies in real life.
I've painted portraits of my former boss, my in-laws and I also painted a portrait of my wife.
I've been given a magical power but I don't know where it came from.
My killing spree is not going to end, there will be more deaths to come.
I'm going to paint portraits of Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump.
Then I'll paint portraits of the creators of the new Doctor Who TV show, I'll get rid of all of those chumps.
I'm also going to paint a portrait of a bully who I went to school with.
He'd better enjoy what time he has left because he won't have long to live.
I will never see the inside of a courtroom, I will never be tried.
If you don't want your portrait to be painted, don't get on my bad side.

Far away,
Where the ochre of dusk kisses the horizon,
Where the scarlet of blood leaves behind trails,
Where the grey of dust smogs above the rubble,
Rests a content orphan mutilated by war,
In his eternal sleep.

Close by,
Where the wall of portraits poses proud a witness,
Where the shelf of books prisons a beloved diary,
Where the bin of waste smokes with burnt letters of love,
Rests a broken damsel torn by betrayal,
On a pillow wet with tears.

A few fathoms away,
Where the green of suburbs mocks the city of splendour,
Where the thatch of roofs overlooks the wooden stoves,
Where the hunger of eyes satisfies itself with morsels,
Rests a weary mason struggling to survive,
On a floor freezing cold with winter.

Within you,
My lady,
Where the seeds of dormancy give way to saplings of emotion,
Where the fairies of yore build castles of attractive imperfections,
Where the mistletoe of beauty houses my swooning heart,
Rests my incomplete Elysium forged with love,
On a garden littered with flowers of hope.

Portraits and pictures resembles the past,
Every one forms an image and memories that lasts,
It portray and tell the part of our lives in sequence
That depict ourselves from the time we experience

No matter how, I look every angle and see it through
I can still find the people that brings my life breakthrough
To summarize what contribution, they did
I thought both loneliness and happiness are the possessions, I hid

Being with them both loved and hatred is I got for
Because one thing, I will always pray is to change, I did before,
For those I cling and show them the light, I felt delighted and contented
But others I hated and leave in the dark, only regret I can described

Most of them are unique and special but one is dearest to my heart,
Awaking for the time, when I see the smile that melts me apart,
Reminiscing the moment that someone came it brightens my day
And only giving inspiration in my heyday

Oh my God above, Can I turn back the time?
Going back in this period and steal a chance, would it be a crime?
Should I only do, is to accept that is forever lost?
To change anything a bit, is yet unknown, of how it cost.