Notes About The Poem
A quick scribble for Dilly Dally's Vanishing Point poetry contest
Vanishing Point
In my portrait of life the
palette began in pigments
of blue, red and yellow,
but with each stroke,
my horizons slowly dissolved into
mustard, muddy brown
and burnt orange.
Not everything you portray
upon a canvas is mutually accepted,
so my soul remained subjective
and my heart abstract.
As I collect dust upon my shoulders,
I wish I was a painting never painted.
Visibility has turned into a veil,
resulting in stubborn invisibility,
so everything is an illusion
lingering in a black hole absorbing
the conspicuous.
I know I will regret not expressing one day
but bitter roots remain rooted deep into the earth.
I don't want to hide
but protect what breeds inside.
I'm afraid someone may look deeper
into this façade where time forgets the truth.
My hands resemble a box of nothingness,
as hues fade from indigo into charcoal,
with pastels infusing with the darkness.
My heart is an ocean
beneath a motionless surface.
Not everyone can view the world
like Van Gogh's eyes,
where the longer you stare
the more you become aware.
In blind visions a 'driftwood' mind wanders
between mental blankness and
the angst of actuality,
all that survives is blackness.
If fate was fair
then we would all view and be viewed
in soft pastels of peach,
sapphire and lilac.
The harder I attempt to find myself,
I lose more than I thought I would gain.
At the end upon the edge
in the last exhale all that is left
will be the silence after an echo.
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