Below is the poem entitled Paint which was written by poet
Carlson. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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Trying to be something it ain’t
The very source for the beloved word hate
Guys, we’ve been painting like this for awhile now
So open a window before I faint
Paint’s supposed to be great
But the colors still don’t seem to blend we’ll have to wait
And I’m growing impatient…
These walls are secretly covered in blue
My veins are filled, to the maximum capacity, with the bluest paint you’ve ever seen
So are his, so are hers, so are yours
And sometimes the paint pours
But the blue wears out and red’s the new coat
Now the walls are red
It’s like we’re the same entity
Man there must be something wrong with my head
Was it a dream?
A nightmare cloud of nothing I’ve ever seen? …
Then it hit me like a brick in the face
I dozed off in the middle of a “race”
And Poor Humanity couldn’t keep pace
And that sucks because I was rooting for him
But that good ole’ hate was about to take first place
As he crossed the finished line, more paint spilled from its can
Blue paint turned to red again
A Paintbrush was sharpened and used as a knife
It wasn’t a dream, it was life…
This doesn’t make sense
My mind is dizzy…
Why must the Paint run?
Why does it slowly drip from the barrel of my gun?
Why do I hold a gun?
Why am I painting these walls red?
Now these walls are dead
And so are yours and so are his and so are hers
If I don’t stop, than it’s ugly walls for all…
I think this is an epiphany! …
The first coat of paint is always the same color
All walls are identical in the beginning
The second coat is not always a different color than someone else’s but it’s not always the same
It hides the first coat from sight
That deep blue that, if coaxed, transforms into red
And that coat should never seep through
Because the second coat is what make the walls beautiful
No matter the color of the walls of the house you call home