Poem -
Painted Pain
You scraped out what was left of my guts and you called it my soul,
You smeared me on your palette,
And dipped your brush into my pain,
You painted the world with what was left of me,
But I wasn't completly gutted,
No not completely!
There are more colours here inside of me,
Bleeding freely,
Past the need of your palette.
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Comments
Victoria
-I really like your poem with the pain, misery and the wound and now how about giving me a Band-Aid and the process to healing which would've been a good affirmation of your poem.
-But as it stands, for now, it is beautifully written with the demonstratively descriptiveness and definitively and visually expressiveness that a poem needs for imagery. The imagery is totally superb.
-Thanks for sharing and take care and have a good one.
Alex
Thanks for your comment. I am glad you liked the imagery.
Did you mean "past" the need of your palette, Victoria, as in, "to go beyond"?
Or was this intentionally written this way?
In any event, I did enjoy reading your piece.
A very moving poem indeed.
~Dean Kuch
Oh yes did. Thanks for catching that!