A Masterpiece
The night draws dusk to it
like a child hugs a pet.
And for a brief moment,
they commingle as one.
A wisp of a moon hangs
low on the horizon.
And slowly rises like
a ghostly memory.
Colors blend with shadows
as black fills the crevices.
And a carpet of dew's
woven on grassy looms.
The sun's rays stab the night
till ebony bleeds red.
And day starts to dissolve,
extinguishing last light.
The stars perforate the
fabric of time and space.
And a blank canvas morphs
into a masterpiece.
(Blank Verse)
3/2/2015
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment