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juliet 4h
i am an artist
silversmith of masterpieces
worn out scratches
of pencil lead and inked out memories
the fire on the candle
burns, lighting up my head
and guiding me to a crisp,
blank page
my heavy breath, my heavy heart
blows it out in dark puffs of steam
the smoke is singing!
i’ve lost the light and brought my soul back home
An artist stopped
His once dreamt
Legendary Masterpiece

In order to
Reflect his time
Why it needs to be
Like this

Rest waits
He understands
Genre: Abstract
Theme: Echoes and Reflections, something deep
cupid 5d
he wants to be a run away
who? what do you mean “who”?
you know him
the distant blonde kid who sleeps through half his classes
yes, the artist
i heard he’s depressed
i saw him crying to his brother the other day
did you know he plays cello?
he ***** at it but it probably makes him happy
some girl told me he paints
his friend asked him what was wrong, i guess he’s heartbroken
no i don’t know his name
everybody calls him something different anyway
he has a rebel spirit
if he was less loud and more attractive
everyone would be in love with him
he’s the kind of kid that would go missing
and no one would know
he’s probably a vandal
or a ****, i was told he’s from a bad neighborhood
what if he really runs away
i mean im not his friend but he could be cool
maybe we should talk to him
yeah i wonder what he writes about too
no i don’t think he’s crazy
but he is a punk
he’s a troublemaker
his name is cupid and he will be a run away
this is set as a conversation but written only from one side if you cant tell, please take a guess who it's about
What is art?
Is it the expression of creative skill?
The application of imagination?

Is art the creation of beauty?
The birth of emotional power?
Or is art solely imitation?
A copy of something that is real?

Is art a fool’s attempt at immortality?
Angelic bodies immortalized within a frame,
Faces of eternal youth,
Fruit that is forever ripe,
Flowers in perpetual bloom?

Is art a source of calm in a chaotic world?
Grace 6d
You are 500 years of
Experience and Talent
Hidden In a Teen
In a Generation where
Literature is a Lost Art
Inspired by you
zb Oct 31
i smear oil paint across your lips.

your face, outlined in pale brown and
robin's egg blue and
rests gently in negative space.

part of me hurts
when i look at this part of you,
this part i am
so familiar with,
in an unfamiliar way.

the lines of your eyes
(eyes i've gazed into a thousand times)
betray my secrets and my soul;

the whisper of your hair
is the same as the quiet brush of mine
on the tops of my bare shoulders;

i reach out to touch you,
and my fingers touch dried oils
in shades of raw umber and cadmium lemon;
my paintbrush still dangles, wet,
from my other hand.

the creased wax paper on the table
carries swatches of color,
the potential energy of
my pigment-smudged hands;
you are still unfinished.

i am still unfinished.
lucav Oct 25
pills help me spot the differences in these pages
these days spill together like the paints i cannot use
my mind grays like the drawings where i went out of the lines
my mouth spills out the colors that i don’t dare to say
i’m unsure about this one
My thoughts arranged in poems
My words spoken in song
Every movement I make
Falls with such grace
Following the rhythm of a tune
I paint my face like a blank canvas
With colours unnatural to me
I sort them in shapes and patterns
Distinct and differently
I pick a character to play
I will be her today
Then return to being me tonight
I am a work of art
A work in progress
A creatively driven sight
Penelopejayde Oct 21
if i’m not an artist what
on earth am I?
if i’m not an artist why
am i here?
if i’m not an artist now
then when?
if i’m not an artist why
can’t I be?
Am I an artist?
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