Painted is my canvas made
Strokes of color vast
and bright
Wood constructed frame
I look on with delight
Gazing from a
distance
I implore:
Dearest Art!
Have I captured your brilliance?
Are
you daring, provoking or tame?
Are
you haunting or perhaps lame?
Will
you invoke a thought?
Conjure
up feelings or naught?
As
my love and hate exist
Will
my art’s loneliness persist?
I look on with
disbelief
Angry with my grief
Wanting nothing but to
destroy
With my fists and
voice employ
My stomach’s madness
And soul’s sadness
I sit to write and sing My song
To tell the world: YOU
ARE WRONG!
A poet’s dream
In essence yes
This artist shall her
work commence.