Stayed up late to ponder fate
Couldn't hide those bleary eyes
Marred from years of endless tears
And bags you so despise.
When inquired, you're just tired;
As if lies would ease the pain.
But clouds are dark and heavy too,
Just 'fore it starts to rain.
YOU ARE READING
The Artist's Palette- A Poetic Collection
PoetryThis anthology is selfsame to an artist's palette- poets carefully choose and blend their emotions on the creative panel of their mind before applying it in rationed amounts to the paper, the same way a painter would coalesce colors on a palette and...
