Tuesday, February 18, 2025

The fallen artist

 

Bright, unrealistic colors of love,

Childish, whimsical, even idiosyncratic,

Painting an alternate reality;

a different dimension of life

on the plain, routine canvas,

We use cheap paints and crude brushes

to shape something

to go along our dreams,--

a concrete solidified dream

in an ephemeral world,

Drawing the outlines of hope, safety, light.

 

Then you realize,

it doesn’t meet your expectations,

So you pick up a soapy mop

to erase the once lovely painting,

which turned into a comic-tragic graffiti,

You become a cleaner

from an artist that you were before.

 

From fine lines to sloppy mop,

Flop!

Why?

Because we have needs in different compartments,

One picture centered around one object

doesn't go into different chambers:

emotions, thoughts, dreams, desires, lust, needs.

 

The brush of love

temporarily appears to wade through

all these different needs,

We believe it’s giving all that we need,

Soon we realize it doesn’t,

The picture disappoints us,

We then just stay with each other,

Trying to believe that

we have happily been together.   

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