Paint

If these colors, I am to blend

then first my brush must I mend.

But to tremble do my fingers tend

and through the canvas paint has bled.

The purest white turns to red,

and when it dries, I am dead.

Reviews

[Irene_asteris]

This one took quite an unexpected turn thinking it's just about the struggle of painting as an artist. You totally got me in the end! Btw lovely poem, l quite enjoyed reading it but i really wish it could have been longer. It looks incomplete but still great eitherway

[Irene_asteris]

This one took quite an unexpected turn thinking it's just about the struggle of painting as an artist. You totally got me in the end! Btw lovely poem, l quite enjoyed reading it but i really wish it could have been longer. It looks incomplete but still great eitherway