#canvass - Hello Poetry

• I'm coloring in these tensiles Shapes test patterns to sell Instead I'm constructing a new formation My mentality blending in with my insanity Painting in pain so the light spilt into the paint Running deep blue waters while yellow splashes in with the compassion Bubbles piling up to pop at the surface to serve my dying face A boat bought sinks with beautiful daffodils as poetry Separates the ink from the words Colors distorted from the canvas As I emerge the sky is now mine All these patterns I've gained Become my whole page Tell a scope because my view is far out Tessellated picture is now draped as my soul Proceed my figure and we both shall see the sea shells •

0

Apr 19, 2020

Apr 19, 2020 at 8:29 PM UTC

Bullet

Tessellate

• I'm coloring in these tensiles Shapes test patterns to sell Instead I'm constructing a new formation My mentality blending in with my insanity Painting in pain so the light spilt into the paint Running deep blue waters while yellow splashes in with the compassion Bubbles piling up to pop at the surface to serve my dying face A boat bought sinks with beautiful daffodils as poetry Separates the ink from the words Colors distorted from the canvas As I emerge the sky is now mine All these patterns I've gained Become my whole page Tell a scope because my view is far out Tessellated picture is now draped as my soul Proceed my figure and we both shall see the sea shells •

18

I find the allure of burgundy hues, not one for the corpse of grapes, being squeezed of every essence of life... But the allure haemorrhaging forth.. I could be buried within this collage of elegance. And when I dig myself from it, I would paint, seeing a picture of vigour. Not the outline that others see , when its chalk lined on the canvass. Its not deceased, this moment has only just breathed.

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Apr 10, 2020

Apr 10, 2020 at 3:44 PM UTC

poetic-t

Rusted Hues Polish Me..

I find the allure of burgundy hues, not one for the corpse of grapes, being squeezed of every essence of life... But the allure haemorrhaging forth.. I could be buried within this collage of elegance. And when I dig myself from it, I would paint, seeing a picture of vigour. Not the outline that others see , when its chalk lined on the canvass. Its not deceased, this moment has only just breathed.

15

No music but the pen won't stop taking the hand for a dance on the stage No tides, the halcyon has come to brood but the ink won't stop flowing over the banks No noise but the empty canvass won't stop shouting at the painter to smear his paints and quit dilly-dallying

0

Jan 16, 2020

Jan 16, 2020 at 5:29 AM UTC

Danny_inks

Untitled

No music but the pen won't stop taking the hand for a dance on the stage No tides, the halcyon has come to brood but the ink won't stop flowing over the banks No noise but the empty canvass won't stop shouting at the painter to smear his paints and quit dilly-dallying

3

Canvass these souls Threaten them Throttle them Just do anything To get the hidden truth Sinisterly, they all will fool you But try not to get fooled by this junk You are way more capable to unravel this mystery You are the truth seeker But, destiny hands you the unfathomable truth Rest is on your shoulders

0

Jul 29, 2019

Jul 29, 2019 at 12:56 AM UTC

shiv-aradhya-yadav

Fathom

Canvass these souls Threaten them Throttle them Just do anything To get the hidden truth Sinisterly, they all will fool you But try not to get fooled by this junk You are way more capable to unravel this mystery You are the truth seeker But, destiny hands you the unfathomable truth Rest is on your shoulders

12

~ Color me with hues coming from your heart Touch me gently as you hold your brush Draw every memory you want to come alive Put them gently and never do it in a rush ~ Leave traces of your hand all around my frame Make me your reflection, your soul's looking glass Feed your spirit with creation you always want Color me with shades of you, make me your prettiest canvass ~

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Dec 27, 2016

Dec 27, 2016 at 7:41 PM UTC

Marguerite

Color Me

~ Color me with hues coming from your heart Touch me gently as you hold your brush Draw every memory you want to come alive Put them gently and never do it in a rush ~ Leave traces of your hand all around my frame Make me your reflection, your soul's looking glass Feed your spirit with creation you always want Color me with shades of you, make me your prettiest canvass ~

11

He painted me with the faith Color to make me as his wish I was so glad he believe me I would be real in his sketch He hold me, croon for me Dance and smirk with me He comes close to share his emotion I feel proud as I shine in his passion Hey!!! Where are you going leaving me alone? I could not be here without your shadow I feel suffocation in this canvass I would be scared in this dimness I am so isolate without your hug You make me smile blush me up Now I can't be happy nor can cry As the tears will take identity of my The only thing you left for me The only thing I can carry for you That makes me feel alive in this canvass

0

Oct 12, 2015

Oct 12, 2015 at 1:45 AM UTC

sumina-thapaliya

Alive in Canvass

He painted me with the faith Color to make me as his wish I was so glad he believe me I would be real in his sketch He hold me, croon for me Dance and smirk with me He comes close to share his emotion I feel proud as I shine in his passion Hey!!! Where are you going leaving me alone? I could not be here without your shadow I feel suffocation in this canvass I would be scared in this dimness I am so isolate without your hug You make me smile blush me up Now I can't be happy nor can cry As the tears will take identity of my The only thing you left for me The only thing I can carry for you That makes me feel alive in this canvass

20

*We grow up believing that the magic stays. But it never really does. Experience skins us, bares us open. To a reality that is far from what we want ourselves. As children we were blank canvasses. Time went on and so did life bring so many colors to that canvass. Sometimes bright, sometimes dark. Filling the white, pure spaces as each day we learn to fear, to hope , to love and to desire. But we also lose our ability to just go back to that blank slate. Where everything is clearer, unclouded. And we just think that the world is full of it, when all along we are just full of it. I'd like to know the art of just being that empty canvass again. To learn and to unlearn every color that the world has given me. To be thrown into an absolute mess but still go back to where I came from.*

0

Jun 6, 2015

Jun 6, 2015 at 1:59 PM UTC

lovelychickenbones

Colors

*We grow up believing that the magic stays. But it never really does. Experience skins us, bares us open. To a reality that is far from what we want ourselves. As children we were blank canvasses. Time went on and so did life bring so many colors to that canvass. Sometimes bright, sometimes dark. Filling the white, pure spaces as each day we learn to fear, to hope , to love and to desire. But we also lose our ability to just go back to that blank slate. Where everything is clearer, unclouded. And we just think that the world is full of it, when all along we are just full of it. I'd like to know the art of just being that empty canvass again. To learn and to unlearn every color that the world has given me. To be thrown into an absolute mess but still go back to where I came from.*

2

She undressed in front of the mirror Then stared at it once again To that amazing canvass for years To it, painted every emotion Every pain, every laughter Yes, both her joy and sadness The storms she has faced The mountains she has climbed The seas, the rivers, the lakes Every wave she passed But the most beautiful painting Was the man holding a glass bird It is there, where she can hear her heartbeats

0

Jun 4, 2015

Jun 4, 2015 at 6:12 PM UTC

Marguerite

The Painter

She undressed in front of the mirror Then stared at it once again To that amazing canvass for years To it, painted every emotion Every pain, every laughter Yes, both her joy and sadness The storms she has faced The mountains she has climbed The seas, the rivers, the lakes Every wave she passed But the most beautiful painting Was the man holding a glass bird It is there, where she can hear her heartbeats

13