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Savio Fonseca Jun 2023
My Brush touched your Canvas,
With it's timeless and Mystical Flow.
Shadows got cast on surroundings,
mingling with the Crimson Glow.
Strokes that tempted your Passions.
Were framed with My every Whisper.
Bristles lighted Wants and Desires
and Moanings got a lot more Crisper.
My Love had found it's Destination,
As I Sketched all Night Long.
Palette was fueled with imagination,
As your Eyes blushed at every ****.
Design of Love finally got crafted,
as My Kisses landed on your Hands.
Searching for Light and Textures,
Created for U to Understand.
Coleen Mzarriz Apr 2023
It was reflecting—slowly creeping into the small, cracked part of my window. Running his cold, sweaty palm on my forehead and onto the crevasses of my already fragile soul. It is growing like small plants waiting to sprout in dry concrete, blossoming into a wild forest waiting for the blessing of the sun and being showered by the rain.

It creeps softly, masked by the greenery, sometimes vibrant and with a scent of fresh linen sheets and apple slices or newly painted canvases dried out by the cool breeze of the weather, and everyone is smiling, glorious, and incandescent.

But it was also reflecting—slowly creeping into the small crack of my window. Where my room speaks a foreign language and my pillow beats achingly; where breathing morphs into a shadow—eventually walking by your side, so quietly you couldn’t even notice.
there’s something about being known by the unknown.
LeBobbe Apr 2023
A girl stares at her ceiling.
She tries to find her meaning.
But the ceiling holds absense.
Her mind then became a canvas.
She paints with her emotions.
A cluster of scenery beholds.
Ranges from glimmer to potent.
Her vision blurred with amusement.
Tears filled her vision.
Everything is misleading direction.
Raw emotions filled her field.
Nothing but sadness are its yield.
Tears for years she held to.
She wakes with a heart broke into two.

A canvas of herself.
A part of heart.
Reflected & Detached.
An old poem of mine rewritten in my style today.
SUDHANSHU KUMAR Feb 2023
Whenever I try to write about her
I feel like I don't have enough space on my paper
How can I define her? 
When I myself originated from her definition
How can I restrict her within a few lines? 
When my entire words are enslaved before her
How can I portray her life in a poem? 
When my own life is indebted to her...

And even if she herself asks to write her down
Then also, a tale for her won't be enough
Even if to summarise her down
I'd need to write a novel or two
And if she asks to be drawn down
Then nothing would be tougher than this
'Cause a canvas won't be able to hold her entire explosion of colours
And to counter that, I'd only be left with a single option... 
To build an art castle in a space not less than the sun!
Reposting...

Can u write down ur mum?
Edoardo Alaimo Oct 2022
I thought, boldly
That I could see your colours,
Hidden,
Under many layers

I see some azure,
Soft as the sky,
A welcoming, warm pink,
Just as real sunsets

Then some ****** red,
Where it hurts,
And a pitch black
In the shadows of your mind

I am just a fool,
Pretending to understand,
As you continue to refresh,
And brush new paints

Pick the best tones,
Let the canvas flourish,
Blooming like nature,
  In all seasons

I just hope
I can see a few of them
A few colours,
That would do

Or maybe,
A bit of you
13 Oct 2022
remember sight degrades over time,
use it to see the best colours of your life,
sweet or sour they may be.
you are precious
E. A.
She Writes Jul 2022
I am a blank canvas
Begging for an artist
To add a little color to my life
Raven Feels Jan 2022
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, I'm well aware that nothing makes sense, including this poem :>

content is not something we give consent
you hold your pen yet the ink spills as it pleads
you are a walker of blood yet it sheds out when cut & bent
you have a brain yet the tongue blurts out the feels

content is not something we color
just an acceptance of the past
just a canvas you get to paint with limit bother
good for a day then a memory till it lasts

the kiss of a palm forehead & cheek
drafts in my head just to render a sleep
some greed never fed or a satisfaction to meet
yellow till it goes mustard & a shade deep

the saving of a night that would save the day
it's like it's gold but you're swallowing the sand?
the desperation for a treasure at some bay
how would I even find content when out of the hand?


                                                         ­                         --------ravenfeeels
AE Jan 2022
You stole my fears
crushed their petals
to make a paint
that you use
to wash over this blank canvas
that is me,
when I am too afraid
too pensive
you surrender
to my hopeless hands
holding them in your palms of sand
brushing the tears
from tomorrow
onto this blank canvas
that is me.
little glowing flakes
blissful and divine
snow glistens into my bright blue eyes
the beauty of simplicity
of a simple blank white canvas
means winter is upon us
Farah Taskin Sep 2021
my mind
is a colourful
canvas
and
your beautiful
behaviour
is a pleasing
painting
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