The Dove

Slowly the artist dips his brush into the paint. His masterpiece he starts to taint. With tears in his eyes and pain in his heart, he struggles to paint his fresh start. Starring deeply into her piercing eyes of gray, he slides the brush against the tray. Sharply he brushes and continues to cover, this portrait of his former lover. His body is tired, his hands are shaking. His mind is racing, his soul is breaking. With pain deeper than any love, out of his loss blooms a dove. He thinks his pain has been defeated, but after a second look once he was seated, He sees what cannot be covered, once the heart is cleanly severed. Tricked by his own artistic soul, he falls back down into his hole. All this broken man can do is lay, As he stares into the doves piercing eyes of gray.