#brushstrokes - Hello Poetry

A painting, like a library inside the man who is no more. Like the mystery of the skilled painter’s brushstrokes. Emotions put together like a string of different beads making a beautiful necklace. Too heavy the weight to carry. Every color shedded tears that gives a man his posture. Walking or standing still. Look and hear the joy of laughter, the cry in pain. See the happiness in flowers faces. In a true lovers game. Like the last breath of broken men feel the final brushstroke of the fading waves of endless sea. There are as many worlds as there are people. When one man dies we lose a library of untold stories. To know a man look at the finished painting Feel a life, lived. Shell✨🐚

0

Feb 28

Feb 28, 2026 at 6:14 AM UTC

Shell

A life.

A painting, like a library inside the man who is no more. Like the mystery of the skilled painter’s brushstrokes. Emotions put together like a string of different beads making a beautiful necklace. Too heavy the weight to carry. Every color shedded tears that gives a man his posture. Walking or standing still. Look and hear the joy of laughter, the cry in pain. See the happiness in flowers faces. In a true lovers game. Like the last breath of broken men feel the final brushstroke of the fading waves of endless sea. There are as many worlds as there are people. When one man dies we lose a library of untold stories. To know a man look at the finished painting Feel a life, lived. Shell✨🐚

19

Mystical cosmic brush strokes of sprinkles, Pink marshmallows and blue cotton candy Left streaks across the sky, so magnificent Each puff of cloud glowed as if kissed by a unicorn The sun simmers softly below the horizon painting the sky pink

0

Mar 14, 2019

Mar 14, 2019 at 9:23 AM UTC

amoy

Brush strokes

Mystical cosmic brush strokes of sprinkles, Pink marshmallows and blue cotton candy Left streaks across the sky, so magnificent Each puff of cloud glowed as if kissed by a unicorn The sun simmers softly below the horizon painting the sky pink

6

Blank canvass, Then colour brings it to life Shades and tones scratch in to picture It bleeds creativity, Moments become minutes Which consume the hours of the day, A picture is formed by Impressions, Outlines , Engraving. Life upon the page, One last brush stoke, shading put there Complete, But what did my brush strokes create A hand, as if reaching out the page Ominous, Distressing, Sinister, Is what covered this canvas of white To look upon it, "Did my eyes deserve me" Moving forward as if to clench I move, but to slow As what was inanimate, Now paint drips off as it has hold Upon my hand, The paint seeps up as I am consumed By the canvas Holding on to the frame, My finger scratch upon the wood As I scream, The terror frozen within the paint, I am but brush stokes My face painted on canvas The hand upon my shoulder I am cold now, I am for eternity now the paints prisoner, The hand is my guard Such vivid brushstrokes As if she painted fear upon the canvass A master piece of cloth and paint Not knowing I am trapped now for eternity Terror painted within this frame.

0

Aug 13, 2014

Aug 13, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC

poetic-t

Art Consumes Life

Blank canvass, Then colour brings it to life Shades and tones scratch in to picture It bleeds creativity, Moments become minutes Which consume the hours of the day, A picture is formed by Impressions, Outlines , Engraving. Life upon the page, One last brush stoke, shading put there Complete, But what did my brush strokes create A hand, as if reaching out the page Ominous, Distressing, Sinister, Is what covered this canvas of white To look upon it, "Did my eyes deserve me" Moving forward as if to clench I move, but to slow As what was inanimate, Now paint drips off as it has hold Upon my hand, The paint seeps up as I am consumed By the canvas Holding on to the frame, My finger scratch upon the wood As I scream, The terror frozen within the paint, I am but brush stokes My face painted on canvas The hand upon my shoulder I am cold now, I am for eternity now the paints prisoner, The hand is my guard Such vivid brushstrokes As if she painted fear upon the canvass A master piece of cloth and paint Not knowing I am trapped now for eternity Terror painted within this frame.

43