No one looked as lost
As she did just then-
Her face pallid and wan,
Stolen of its color;
The skin on her sunken cheeks
Stretched taut with former tears,
Her lips slightly parted
Tranced by darkened thoughts.
Her eyes blank and unseeing;
A droplet on her lashes
Tracing down her face a path
Already stricken with tears
As if cutting, carving, slicing-
Opening old wounds.
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...
