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Painting shades of blue
the tinted clouds
over the rainbow
jumped away.

Now is a diving black swan
somewhere down the all
clear lapis lazuli blue sky.

Only one is left behind
wish I was with my butterfly!
paint me some wings
so i can fly away
Star BG Oct 11
On canvas of my life,
with its winding road,
I have often carried a backpack.

A rucksack gathered from bruises
other people inflicted
making me feel insecure,
worthless, and ****.

I carried it for years,
where crying self to sleep was norm.
Where blinders were on
causing my canvas brush of life
to be painted with grays,
blacks and bleeding red.

But now, I wipe canvas clean
with eraser of love.
Beginning to paint in breath.
To dip my feet like brush in dance
swirling with grand energies of love.

Dance painting rainbow colors
to inscribe life as I move
knowing who I am
divine and sacred.
Thusly I paint grandly,
into the forest of my dreams.
Inspired by a communication with Anastasia  THANKS

We all need to feel what we need to feel till we consciously awaken to who we are  DIVINE SACRED AND ETERNAL To remember and start to harbor the love within to live peacefully.
LSD Oct 7
Take the pain and paint it
into anything you can imagine

Paint until each drop
represents the tears you shed

Paint until each ****** represents every
touch you erase from your memory

Paint until each color on your plate
represents the blood that bleeds from your heart

Paint as if you can take every last
bit of it and pour it out on canvas

Paint as you are the only who can put it into picture
and turn it into the beauty that holds it all in place
She is the unsung lyrics,
the pieces of her favorite quotes stitched together.
When one plucks the lyre of her heart
melancholy melody soothes another heart.

She is a pallet full of rich and moody colors.
Sometimes she is bold like the streak of red of the sky at dawn
or delicate as soothing soft colored pastels.
At times she's vibrant
with her colors high on hue
and at times she is dim and quite.

She is contoured with passion;
whirlwind of colors
coaxing the brushstroke
as she is canvassed.

She is the evocative strokes
of a tempestuous soul
of curious contrast;
an exquisit chaos.

She is the raw,
broken tiles pieced together
into a mosaic
s intricate masterpiece like picasso's.

Her body
Her soul
is constantly moulding
sculpting into a phasing masterpiece.

She is an album;
a gallery.
She wasn't built to validate
to be understood
and loved by all
She's supposed to make you feel in the way she thought.

For she is the enigmatic narrative of her truth
and a beautiful ambiguity.
Xallan Oct 1
My sister paints
a heart that is not hers
it is not anyone's
and because she is not a surgeon
and that is not her heart
it stains the canvas: pink
Am I too early
or so so very late?
Time is but a smudge
of mixed acrylic paint.

My history, the canvas
and my pen a brush.
Time is but a smudge
dripping through my clutch.

Dreams blur into nightmares;
nightmares into day-time thoughts.
Time is but a smudge
of profits and loss.

When the end comes
my journal will be passed.
Time is but a smudge
that my children will grasp.

They will both read
of my love for them.
Time is but a smudge
in this infinite realm.

They will both know
how much I love them so.
Time is but a smudge
and if it weren't for them I would of let go.

Time is but a smudge
in an never ending orbit
time is but a smudge
and they have made it euphoric.
She settles in your heart
like paint
in the fine lines of
your shirt
never fully-able
to wash her out


                    (the stains: a comforting reminder of what was once there)
c Oct 1
Painting me
Like one of your French girls
Is a little worse than cliche.
Paint me in your mind
With rose petals for hips
And the most divine night sky
Beneath my lashes.
Speckle pigments across my skin
Freckles like wet sand, stuck.
Color my scars brightest
Impure veins like that of a leaf
Carrying stories, not water.
Paint my smile most of all
Paint it weighed down by stones
Too many for anyone to remember
Yet stretching, brightly
As if to reach the moon.
Above all else, paint me yours.
Maxim Keyfman Sep 28
was among the lanterns again
flashlights again
among the stars again in the middle of the world
again among the planets again among
the sun again among the paints again
among the lamps all over again
again and again among the lanterns

I walked boldly along the streets
I walked along the streets and walked on and on
I went boldly and boldly to the streets
but why and where did I go but why
but why and among the lanterns I was and
among lanterns and among lanterns and among
only lanterns and starlight

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