The Colorist
The Colorist
He searched the shelves of his heart
and discovered hiding there
his poetic palette,
all his colors, true and fair.
He opened the cupboard
where the canvas frames lay
and on an easel began to paint
the shades of his heart's bouquet.
The pastels freely flowed
into a prismatic reflection
of his latent memory,
of life's inconstant perfection.
In the painting of his poems,
his memories vividly convey
all the joys and sorrows
he came to know along his way.
Copyright © John Newlin | Year Posted 2018
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