If words were pastels colors
And my pen a painters brush
I'd write for you
A masterpiece
On my canvas
Stark and white
A canopy
In shades of blue
High clouds
In wisps of white
No threat of rain
Do they hold
Nor filter out the sun
Then the background...
An Ocean vast
far as eye can see
It offers no colors of its own
But steals from sky above
Next some sail boats
in the wind.
Some near,
some far from shore
With bright and playful
Bellowed sails
Just like a child's toy
Adding depth
To canvas' still
I'd paint some waves
in rhyme
Reaching forth
with frothy brows
Curling towards
The beckoning shore
A gull or two,
or five or more
Black streaks
on unseen breeze
No details needed
To Them defined
Painted free in flight are they
While others aves
when tide is low
Search for shells or *****
A feast
Are painted not as streaks
Of black
But in details to be seen
But still my painting's
Though sublime, and grand
As you might read it's lines
There's something lacking
For your minds eye
That would add
A personal touch
Ah, it's you
On sand of white
Your dress catching
breezes soft
A woven hat to block
sun's rays
Being held
by your right hand
Arms, legs
And feet so tan
Beach chair
Umbrella furled
Glistening lotion
Though applied
Goes Unnoticeable to reader's eyes
So now that my palette 's
Job is done
brushstrokes of ink had dried
I stand back eyes closed
Take a breath
And sigh a sigh of why
Why we write in words and pose
Instead of paint and brush
It's because our minds
And thoughts are more
Then a canvas can ever hold
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 11:20 AM UTC
If words were pastels colors
And my pen a painters brush
I'd write for you
A masterpiece
On my canvas
Stark and white
A canopy
In shades of blue
High clouds
In wisps of white
No threat of rain
Do they hold
Nor filter out the sun
Then the background...
An Ocean vast
far as eye can see
It offers no colors of its own
But steals from sky above
Next some sail boats
in the wind.
Some near,
some far from shore
With bright and playful
Bellowed sails
Just like a child's toy
Adding depth
To canvas' still
I'd paint some waves
in rhyme
Reaching forth
with frothy brows
Curling towards
The beckoning shore
A gull or two,
or five or more
Black streaks
on unseen breeze
No details needed
To Them defined
Painted free in flight are they
While others aves
when tide is low
Search for shells or *****
A feast
Are painted not as streaks
Of black
But in details to be seen
But still my painting's
Though sublime, and grand
As you might read it's lines
There's something lacking
For your minds eye
That would add
A personal touch
Ah, it's you
On sand of white
Your dress catching
breezes soft
A woven hat to block
sun's rays
Being held
by your right hand
Arms, legs
And feet so tan
Beach chair
Umbrella furled
Glistening lotion
Though applied
Goes Unnoticeable to reader's eyes
So now that my palette 's
Job is done
brushstrokes of ink had dried
I stand back eyes closed
Take a breath
And sigh a sigh of why
Why we write in words and pose
Instead of paint and brush
It's because our minds
And thoughts are more
Then a canvas can ever hold