I found my old box of markers
I'm going to create some art
Not sure exactly what it is I have in mind
But I shouldn't put the horse before the cart
Mainly I just doodle, I'm whimsical and free
Sometimes, I draw straight from the heart
I enjoy using lots of different colors
While making others feel as though they are a part
Pictures of things in all shapes and sizes
I've got creativity just oozing out my pours
Could be a fierce dragon, or fluttering butterflies
But their beauty could never be ignored
I'm always opened to new suggestions
Ideas can be contagious in many ways
My mind does tend to go off on tangents
And a picture says what a thousand words can say
Some pieces can be pinned up on the freezer
Others, should be framed as works of art
You will never know until the work is finished
And you can't finish, until you start.
I'm on a positivity kick. This poem is a direct result.
Come on ! Come on !
Let's go ! . . .
row upon row
do the red poppies grow
Red ! Red !
the petal fed
taken from the lives
of the young and dead
The white bones
bleached of dreams
and forgotten sins ,
Row upon row
of white the markers go
drenched in poppies
the dead in red grow
Bleached bone dreams
no whispers of "dear"
that death's spear pierced
Their's , no longer
the years , the fears , and tears
where the red poppies grow
row upon row
— The End —