The Artist
The artist has hidden secrets in
The paintings on her olive skin
Indents on a flat desert plain
Pale pink mirages full of pain
A reminder of a time long gone
Of cries for help from far beyond
Immortalized in the tiny scars
Tragic constellations among the stars
She was enchanted by the way it felt
To burn the cards she had been dealt
But the numbness did not last forever
That haunted string was bound to sever
From the ashes she was born again
And found someone to call a friend
So the artist put her pain into song
Magical poetry about all she’d done wrong
But though her art began to fade
When temptation called, she obeyed
Under cover of darkness, when her wounds start to gush
Her soft, tender fingers still reach for the brush
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
