07-21-2019, 11:37 AM
It begins with spilled ink on a page,
forming an indistinct blotch of color
that slowly takes on the shape
of some ex-girlfriend I thought I had forgotten about.
Then I take a paintbrush and my best colors
and try to capture her image
from my undeveloped memories,
but the pigments never seem to mix.
Every stroke removes some part of her
until the portrait that remains is not a photograph,
it is inspiration.
forming an indistinct blotch of color
that slowly takes on the shape
of some ex-girlfriend I thought I had forgotten about.
Then I take a paintbrush and my best colors
and try to capture her image
from my undeveloped memories,
but the pigments never seem to mix.
Every stroke removes some part of her
until the portrait that remains is not a photograph,
it is inspiration.
If you're the smartest person in the room, you're in the wrong room.
"Or, if a poet writes a poem, then immediately commits suicide (as any decent poet should)..." -- Erthona
"Or, if a poet writes a poem, then immediately commits suicide (as any decent poet should)..." -- Erthona
