Read Poetry: THE ART OF LOVE, by Dan

POETRY FESTIVAL. Submit to site for FREE. Submit for actor performance. Submit poem to be made into film.

I made the first stroke,
On our virgin framed canvas,
Sheer ecstasy!
Coating our painting of love,
A brush and a palette,
Crimson ink from my heart
Briskly cultured my half,
Melted affection into art.

But you left your half untouched,
Your beret to gather dust,
Your bristles dry and parched,
Your heart sated and scarlet,
Void picture!
Halfway quenched,
Like a dying fire with no bellows,
A piano with only white keys.

But my limb pushed me to paint,
Culture your half with my surviving ink,
Drain my cardiac tincture,
Give our painting a clincher,
Altruistic love!
Bleached my heart and its nerve,
Robbed its hue and its curve.

A gavel and a French accent,
The verdict and the critic,
An infatuation!
Not worthy my ink you said,
A painter for a sculptor you’d trade,
It was only a fading charade.

Though beaten and pale,
Matte grey like Calvary,

View original post 26 more words

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Read Poetry: THE ART OF LOVE, by Dan

POETRY FESTIVAL. Submit to site for FREE. Submit for actor performance. Submit poem to be made into film.

I made the first stroke,
On our virgin framed canvas,
Sheer ecstasy!
Coating our painting of love,
A brush and a palette,
Crimson ink from my heart
Briskly cultured my half,
Melted affection into art.

But you left your half untouched,
Your beret to gather dust,
Your bristles dry and parched,
Your heart sated and scarlet,
Void picture!
Halfway quenched,
Like a dying fire with no bellows,
A piano with only white keys.

But my limb pushed me to paint,
Culture your half with my surviving ink,
Drain my cardiac tincture,
Give our painting a clincher,
Altruistic love!
Bleached my heart and its nerve,
Robbed its hue and its curve.

A gavel and a French accent,
The verdict and the critic,
An infatuation!
Not worthy my ink you said,
A painter for a sculptor you’d trade,
It was only a fading charade.

Though beaten and pale,
Matte grey like Calvary,

View original post 26 more words

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s