We started with a blank, cracked wall
Hands shaking, we began to thaw
With every stroke, a world took form,
A story began, vibrant and warm.

I filled in the cracks, with thin veins of gold
Figured it'd last, and covered ugly with bold.
Excited to start, I sank into thought,
But you quietly noticed I had missed some spots.

The first layer was bright, unrestrained,
Colors of joy we couldn’t contain
We painted sunsets, golden and vast
Believing that forever would last.

You taught me to blend the shades of the sky,
I showed you the beauty in the colors of night.
Together, we built a world so grand,
Each stroke a testament to what we’d planned.

But soon, the brushes began to fray
People stared, and called us by names
We argued over colors, shapes, and space,
Yet somehow kept painting, pace by pace.

The mural grew heavy with pain and mistakes
We painted thunderstorms, chaos, and rain.
Still, tears watered flowers into bloom,
A stubborn hope shining through the gloom.

The onlookers left, but the rain eroded
Behind the clouds, faded veins of gold corroded
The thunder faded, and I blindly rejoiced
Unknowingly, I had cemented your choice

One day I looked up, to find in dismay
Your brushes abandoned, your colors turned gray.
I stood by the wall, lost and unsure,
Facing a masterpiece that felt like a blur.

With trembling hands, I picked up the brush,
In the deafening silence, my own sobs turned to hush.
I painted alone, though your colors remained,
Ghostly imprints of joy and pain.

A lighthouse painted, its beacon dim,
Two figures either side, watching it spin.
Fields of poppies, you had once made vibrant and lush,
Accidentally smeared under my hesitant brush.

My paint dryed up, eyes beckoned by sleep
A lifetime sprawled in colors and feats.
I stand before it, heart in my throat,
People walk by, unaware of what's wrote.

There’s the golden sun, where we began,
And the rain-soaked earth where our troubles ran.
The images we painted together sing,
While my final strokes frame them clumsily.

And yet, I marvel at what we’ve made,
The laughter, the love, the dreams that stayed.
It’s cracked, raw, and painfully true,
A testament to both me and you.

I step back now, my brushes laid down,
The mural is finished—its truths resound.
Alone, I face this mural we’ve drawn,
And wonder what it means to move on.

When the calm in my eyes met the fire in yours, I mistook your heat for warmth.
You were an artist and arsonist, creating something beautiful just to destroy it.
The cycle was violent, reminiscent of manipulated shades of red on canvas.
Your words were sharp, softening my tone until I fell into quiet submission.
Your need for control couldn't be satiated, I failed to realize that I handed you the knife.
Blood pooling at my feet, I still felt grateful you chose me.
I opened my mouth but no words came out and as you lit your final match, I realized I was the art.

In every leaf upon the tree, In every wave upon the sea, In every star that lights the night, In every dawn’s first gentle light.

A thread unseen, yet ever there, A bond that all of life must share, In every breath, in every heart, An endless whole of which we’re part.

From mountains tall to valleys low, From rivers fast to winds that blow, Each soul, each spirit, every being, In nature’s web,
a vast unseeing.

The whispers of the ancient breeze, The secrets of the deepest seas, The songs that every creature sings, All speak of ties, of boundless rings.

In life’s grand dance, a tapestry, Woven with threads of unity, In joy, in sorrow, loss, or gain, We find we’re one, in sun and rain.

So feel the beat of nature’s drum, And know that you and I are one, In this grand scheme, this endless quest, We find our peace, our common rest.

It always sounds much better in an empty room
where the smell of leather sticks like a perfume
and the deficit of attention drowns the thought of you

Some place where perspective changes the view
of the perpetual puzzle that takes pieces of you,
and they are aged and altered into something new

The room with a sink, floors tiled, and empty walls,
where you wash your face and you dry it off,
now home to nearly broken strings
echoing
with words only important to me

Our destined calm–
rusted wings of the butterfly
and freezing, slow passage of time.
You are the envelope in which lies my heart– a city of myth and ink.
You’re holding the pen.
There are dreamers like me,
for dreams like you.

Is she merely a commodity, – or is she a daring spirit, traversing
the farthest reaches of love? To express to her young – an odyssey!
Often, they would hastily declare that a woman's deeds are common;
but to counter, her core is to weave a painting of sentences adorned
with countless comas.

She…

Is a stormy love, obliterating all that stands against compassion,
wielding a wisdom that is both fierce and gentle, she knows precisely
when to voice her thoughts or to elevate the spirit of a man who may
overlook her brilliance, a celestial body, she requires no stage to
illuminate the world; her radiance persists, unwavering, she is a
lyrical composition, igniting the pages that attempt to confine her
value, she embodies the sweetest of a restless soul, finally finding
solace in her nurturing embrace, she is tranquillity, she is affection,
she is the embodiment of patience, the lessons and warnings of a
discerning gaze – she is… a Woman.

She is art
Intricate and Divine
An art piece even the greatest painters could never perfect to recreate
Her appearance, her body, her eyes, her soul
Her skin catching the sunlight, glowing in an ethereal light
Spellbound by the sight of her luminous eyes
She is so distinctive as if in a monotonous field full of roses she blossoms into her natural beauty like a Calla Lily
Her smile radiates comfort
The very beings blessing us to even let us gaze at someone so breathtaking
That is art
She is art

The beauty of art

and the world does not exist --


if you reject it.