Array ( [sid] => 184075 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => an empty canvas [time] => 2017-04-09 21:11:54 [hometext] => [bodytext] => I was told to stay and watch,
as the artwork unfolded.
The artist orchestrating a lifetime of memories,
painted in this moment.
Our words conceptualized by colours
as they long to hold...
of any shape.
Longing again molds the heart to desire,
such vibrancies.
The artist stands back,
admires the work.
Eyes to observe,
catches the moments past,
realizes new obsessions now cover the canvas.
The work has updated itself
to reflect the light that now shines.
Sleep will no longer deter such celebrations,
we must be awake
to adapt the new time frame of the moment.
The brushes movement
can no longer be ceded.
Old words require a new coat.
Perhaps the words were always there,
just faded by time and neglect.
Works of art,
linger,
still in various positions of completeness.
This new piece begs for adoration.
New colours need to be invented to hide
the neglect the artist faded his time from.
It was knowledge of the future
that led to the pieces not being seen.
Nows of time past,
resurface,
some to be heard,
others are felt through heartache,
some to ecstasy.
All this,
the moments building on top of itself,
rewards interests,
a heat that lays,
seemingly for not.
You are still in bed,
miles away,
and the artist stands here starring
at an empty and old canvas,
with your name blinding him from his work. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 137 [topic] => 22 [informant] => eggflipper [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => LostLove ) Your Poetry Dot Com - an empty canvas


an empty canvas
Date: Sunday, 9th April 2017 @ 09:11:54 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: eggflipper
I was told to stay and watch,
as the artwork unfolded.
The artist orchestrating a lifetime of memories,
painted in this moment.
Our words conceptualized by colours
as they long to hold...
of any shape.
Longing again molds the heart to desire,
such vibrancies.
The artist stands back,
admires the work.
Eyes to observe,
catches the moments past,
realizes new obsessions now cover the canvas.
The work has updated itself
to reflect the light that now shines.
Sleep will no longer deter such celebrations,
we must be awake
to adapt the new time frame of the moment.
The brushes movement
can no longer be ceded.
Old words require a new coat.
Perhaps the words were always there,
just faded by time and neglect.
Works of art,
linger,
still in various positions of completeness.
This new piece begs for adoration.
New colours need to be invented to hide
the neglect the artist faded his time from.
It was knowledge of the future
that led to the pieces not being seen.
Nows of time past,
resurface,
some to be heard,
others are felt through heartache,
some to ecstasy.
All this,
the moments building on top of itself,
rewards interests,
a heat that lays,
seemingly for not.
You are still in bed,
miles away,
and the artist stands here starring
at an empty and old canvas,
with your name blinding him from his work.

This poem is Copyright © eggflipper


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