Wounded Souls of An Artistic Kind
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Painting by Daniel John Gadd
Her brush strokes sorrow upon her canvas,
as oils drip with sadness.
He captures images of silent spirits,
drifting in blackness.
In her black and white world,
her fingers weep with grief stricken strings.
He inks poems cleansing his eyes,
metaphors veil words his heart sings.
In darkness their cries are like wolves,
madly howling at the moon.
They follow the stars, till light kills their dreams,
hopes burst like a balloon.
Morning flowers bring no joy,
all they see is a garden full of weeds.
Storms bring melancholic melodies,
it's too cold to plant new seeds.
A blank canvas, an empty page,
yearn for the return of the muse.
Dusty piano, closed camera,
have no motive to amuse.
When an artist's world lacks colour,
absence means a premature end.
Wounded souls view life with closed minds,
slaying their soul's creative friend.
Silent One
Simple Musing
29 September 2019
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2019
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