Encased in bronze,
I became a masterpiece.
Death of a child?
Loss of a husband?
I have forgotten
what pains me so perpetually.
My screams are silent
echoing through eternity.
The rain cries on me now—
tears I think I deserve.
My eyes trapped behind cold hands.
If by chance you can hear me,
“Was I ever beautiful?”
I’ve broken my heart
in all the right places.
So, when someone looks in,
I want the
kaleidoscope of colors
to greet them.
*Image by atlasobscura.com
Time wanders around outside—
inviting your imagination to come play.
I call it day-dreaming.
You call it, “a creative time-out.”
You always ask
what I’m thinking.
But I’m too busy
trying to answer,
what inspires you,
what you dream about, and
why I love the real you.
Just when I draw an answer,
your whispered wink tells me,
“not out loud.”
(taken from Pinterest: behance.net)
Quietly,
brush in hand,
she creates the image of the world she sees.
Buckets of emotions—
love,
pain,
sorrow, and
regret,
her knowledge and experience
evident in every stroke.
Expression through imagery and color
is a masterpiece in its own right,
hidden within
the depths of her soul
for no one to see but her.
