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Pretty pink petals
Scatter a path
Through the trees.

Branches reach up,
Grasping at the sky,
Trying to pull themselves up.

The leaves are beginning to turn,
A single leaf dances,
Fighting its fate to fall.

A painter’s brush leaves a trail
Across the dimming sky.
Each colour blending into the next.

A bird chirps,
A river trickles.
Wind rustles,

The chill is biting
But not unwelcome.
It breathes life.

In a calm like this it’s easy to remember  
To breathe in
And out.

And nothing else matters.
Star BG Dec 1
Into canvas landscape
to mirror journey I shall paint.
With word pigments as poet
sharing a mirror of self.

Sometimes colors are bright,
giving air of peacefulness for eyes.

Other times dark like night,
exposing just a glimmer of hope
from stars.

Tonight, I paint as hand heavy
lifts pen-like brush.

Grey’s for sadness
inside breath.
Red for pain of heart
from loss.
Brown for mud stuck to feet
feeling trapped.
Black for despair
that shadows me.
Tiny yellow specks for tinge of hope.

I paint to express
from deep carven forged from past.

Perhaps tomorrow my colorant will change.
More night time healing
Kerli Tulva Nov 18
He takes the brush
full of endless wonders
never runs out of
stories to ignite aflame.

Yet every day he seems
to fall into deep thought
in some other world
where beauty excists
inside a brittle crystal.

The brush, shattering it
to design carefully another
wondrous form of art.

Painter, draws the life
while the composer plays
music for the silky soul.

Poet, writes the lines
of eternal exsistence
while the dancer gives
heart for the movement
Of life.
It was when I was colorless and filled with empty hues that you found my lifeless self. The canvas that was sought after— only to stain with abstract lines resembling pain and misery— resides within me. Sweaty palms, heaving chests and hollowed hearts were the things I used to see from the people that held me close.

And there was you.. with your sweaty palms and heaving chest and hollowed heart. You came to me and broke the frame I have covered myself with to hide myself from people who have no intentions of keeping me— whose only desire is to tinge me with throes to dispose of the ache and save themselves.

But you stared at me like you are fascinated with the art that I am to exist. You gently stroked me with your loving brush of emotions and hidden feelings. You painted me the streak color of loneliness and the beauty of sadness that drives people to create masterpieces— and I was yours.

I was yours but you were never mine. The cacophonous sound of your brushes while kissing the surface of my being started to irk your ears. You splashed me the colors of blue and hate. By then, I knew I love you and I knew you don't. I was loathed for the unpleasant colors you spilled me with. And I hated myself more for loving you still as you painted me and filled me with unsightly parts of you.
Shofi Ahmed Nov 8
Stars in their abundance
goodness knows
how many thousands.
Tiptoe over my little alleyway
while I continue to sleep
not even the moon
I didn't tell my dream.

Crackling roaring light of heaven
over the mountain of the dawn
the master painter showed up
with its bursting colour plate.
Deep contemplating day shines
out of the night, it gets caught  
soaked in overflowing colour.

But I opted for a blank paper
not a colour copy of my dream.
I wrapped my eye in it with my pride.
Now treading blindfolded on your way
and over to you, I give
me, my eye and my dream!
Georgia O’Keeffe
In her own right
Melting away
In a gas guzzler
Meditative escape pod
Disguised as a thermal barrier
Your mind is out there
You pay attention
Everything is Alien
Luna appears
Radiating Bull horns
Like a crescent moon
Balancing on the horizon
Magically moving along
The plane of the ecliptic
Maybe for a millisecond
Crab Nebula
Sneezed the brilliance
That caused the most beautiful
That is you
Only the very lucky
Get to see
Black feather floating
Like a random propitious sign
From the heavens
I ******* love you
For showing me
Every forever is a
Second to enjoy
One Love

Wrote this to inspire the painting in the back ground.
Shofi Ahmed Oct 16
Bloomed upon a star!
The setting sun sliding far
into the twilight pool
captured the picture!

Eye on the bumblebee!
That was first to bask in the sun
and thought dove to the length
into the shades of the midday rose.
There it's silhouette gets caught
is half-lit by the milky way brook.

Shades of blue put
in the mix an inky shadow.
Oh, what’s in an unseen hue?
The sprawling black night puts
a veil on the day on every eyeball.  
Guess what it’s anyone guess!
The master painter of the day
even the sun shuffles blindfolded
an acre of the night down the full moon!
R Sep 16
Kyra is a painter, but she's colorblind.

She makes someone else's world colorful but hers is grey.

Whenever she draws in the middle of spring afternoon, she tends to whispers to the singing bird on her shoulder.

"For whom I draw still hasn't been decided, and I wish to meet my muse soon after the season's end."

Two days after spring.

She's being asked to attend her friend's rehearsal.

A pair of her brown eyes is glued to the pianist as his melody hits her right. His fingers gracefully dance in tuts, faster than anyone's breathe, but not so fast compared to Kyra's hand sketching him.

"I find my muse." She whispers in happiness. Gaze falls to the quick sketch on her hand.

She asks her friend about his name, eyes sparkles with love, so pure, so honest.

"His name is Will. He's special like you."

Her brows furrow in confusion as she skips a heartbeat.

"Special? Like me?"

"He's a pianist but he's deaf."
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