I watched her dirty hands
Broken fingernails
Walk across the canvas
Making music
The choir of desolate buildings
Painted with middle-age;
( That grey
Like mould upon the horizon)
Was left unheard
In the empty rooms
While the people;
(Polka dots
As daisies at the door)
Stood silent
Waiting, in the hallways
For the voices to rise
From beyond the bricks.
If only I could paint
And knew what she meant
By that colourless void
I would not have left
To look around
In search of a canvas
With a different sound
Such an evocative poem. Beautiful
Thank you very much for your kind words. I am glad you liked it 😊
A poignantly evoked whimsical poem. Well done
Thank you very much 😊
You’re welcome 😊
The imagination in this poem is… mind-blowing and inspiring, and that of a true artist!
I hope I’m not messing up your notifications. 😩
Thank you.
Thank you very much 😊
And don’t worry about the notifications… Always eager to know your opinion ✌️✌️
You’re always welcome. 😊
And thank you!
Stunning. Love the simplicity yet an alluring depth. Beautiful.