Poetry takes a lot of forms
The heart, the soul, the written course
Some writers plead to the beyond
Others plead to the
g
r
o
u
n
d

Paintings do not move down
But art travels up
Create skyward-bound
And die presenting

My simple canvas
And I paint it
I stroke it thorough
My single woe
Be that I paint it blue
I want it to scramble
The oil preamble that sink by candle
But they do not want
They want dreams and fiction
Pink in premonition
I feel blue

I pick my paint
But fortune demand
I deny feeling so quaint
And just so mix the two
Art in simple pink and blue
Mix together and we are lost
Two diverse only to single brown
No heart or soul
Only creation bring me down

What it be to live stung
In the sharp ending of one
Be burned in a brick of ice
Please
Let me express
Just how I feel
Fine, to listen
Grab pink
Paint blue
Live life held by another hue
Donations shy of my next clue
Painted pain and supported flaw
Brown on white canvas
To be one
Life in pink, feel in blue
Pencil and pen
Canvas reign true

Is it punishment
To serve or to die
Hide from the reality
In house we built to make us cry