Truly
I find it so hard to
Draw
Like them...
I merely just shade on faceless paper
Light images of heavy words;
Having the pitiful face of my aching heart
And appalling body of my curious mind
In dimensions of my tears
With the blue hue of my bleeding pen
Also Making distinctive lines of maddening confusion
Highlighting the shadows of my past regrets
Finally finishing it off with the pungent stench of loneliness
Signed off by "The eternally misunderstood..."
Again... I am unlike the admirable others
With the gift of that of a pencil's golden touch
So I rest in bosom of Shame
And learn from my old pals, Incapabilities
As I grab my mediocre art equipments
Off to start again
This time... The face of an unworthy self;
Me,
The poetical artist...
YOU ARE READING
Blue Winter
PoetryInitially I thought.. Poetry was just... A topic... In literature But little did I know... It is a language Of the soul Different dialects Both For the living And walking dead...
