Gainesville, FL I'm a Nuclear Engineering student at University of Florida, but I find myself needing to tap into my artistic/ creative side after doing so much math and science all day. 151 followers / 4.4k words
How easy it is to paint people With one color, With one broad brush. Over time the various Colors on your palette Swirl together to form globs Of gray. And now your monochrome Judgement renders your world A bleak, barren desert of ashes. No longer do you see the world and its People in its colorful splendor. Some become acclimated to this dulled Perception that has taken hold. A perception that dominates the Senses and gradually turns the brain Into gray mush. Undead they become, starving creatures With the urge to devour. To hurt. No empathy. No compassion. No feeling.
Others, thankfully, know better. Palettes must be cleansed regularly, Layers of dried, crusted paint scraped off With patience. Then fresh paint is restored. Fresh perspectives, encounters, and knowledge Passed down by models to the artist. Yes, we are artists. We paint the world as we deem fit, Plastering on others one’s own Values, morals, and ideals. But the true masters of this craft go beyond, Discerning the vast spectrum of colors That compose a human soul.
But that takes time. Years of experience and keen observation. But possible.
As the sun moves to the western horizon Colors are skilfully blended in a palette In an instant the sky becomes an exquisite canvas of art Making even Van Gogh burn in jealousy
With the last glimmer of sunset When the shadows chase the light, The aerial folks fly back to their nests Like black and white specks dotting the sky
With a dark drape stretched across the Earth’s face The arrival of the night is a spectacular sight Cicadas and crickets welcome her with their ceremonious band And street lamps blink their eyes to catch a better view
While truant clouds still wander around aimless The cerulean sky signals them to hurry Stars slowly appear in the night sky Like sequins stitched on to a blue brocade
The crescent moon smiles down The empress of the night, proud and regal She and her retinue keep guard over the slumbering Earth The unpaid sentries of the night!
A gentle breeze makes a palanquin ride Wafting in the scent of opening buds The beauty of the night sends me to raptures My heart exploding like foaming wine in a bottle
Yet I cannot but keep wondering How many dark secrets The night holds Within her tenebrous folds!
What a pleasant surprise, this poem is made the daily. Thanks to everyone for making it possible through your likes and kind comments. These days I can't see the daily and I don't know where to look for it. The site is sometimes quite tricky.....Thanks a lot once again !
There comes the golden trumpet With its boorish tune. It claims that brimstone is falling From the heavens, threatening To mar all that is pure and white. All are spellbound by his ***** words Stripped from the usual ethereal facade. Promise of prosperity rings in their ears, Since the land of milk and honey has run dry. But wait… Look at the hunger in his eyes, A fervent **** for power and glory. Look at his thin skin, orange and tempered, Burning like coal in a blazing furnace. Look at the cohort he assembled, ******* swine from the swamp. Surely, he has the mob in mind. Throw chocolate to keep them quiet. Put on a show to divert attention. For the truth is glaringly clear, We have been played for fools.
When the smoke subsides… A repentant dog with its tail between its legs, ears back, comes out of the rubble.