Canvas Poems - Poems about Canvas

Love has tied me in ways I never desired Longing of you has carved your heart inside me Under the Twilight , beneath moon I gaze pearls of pain Every sigh whispers the silence between us Love has tied me in ways I lost you......

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Do you know what it feels like to brush your fingers against a lifeless image and pretend it’s enough? To touch thread instead of skin, to cry into cloth because the man you loved is no longer made of bone and breath? It’s rage, not just grief. Because he deserved more. More than a silent death, more than a blurred photo, more than a world that...

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R-ain A-nd C-hill H-ave E-very L-eaf N-odding, O-utstanding N-ature's E-legant T-apestry T-otally E-xemplified. ©bfa060825 Monocrostic (Birthday of Rachel Nonette S. Malto)...

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H-ow Y-ou D-efine E-verlasting L-ove I-s S-omewhat A-rtful, W-hen A-rtful L-ove E-ternally S-tays ©bfa052525 Monocrostic (Birthday of Hydelisa C. Wales) ...

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The canvas waits beneath a tempered blade. A pale silver knife, not forged for war, I wield. I paint the silence that the wounds betrayed. The sky lies torn in strokes of celeste shade, each slash more raw, no truth left unrevealed— the canvas waits beneath a tempered blade. No brush can bruise the dark the way I’ve flayed these hues loose,...

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Wrap me in dreams, like a canvas of stars draped over my soul, When the rain weaves its silver silk on windows like a veil of silence, The cold gathers us like birds under the same sky, caressed by memories, The sun, a weary painter, lays slanting rays on the terraces of our dreams. Let dreams carry me through...

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I wear my dress like a canvas of dreams woven from threads of the moon, as if my porcelain skin had never been touched by shadows, as if you hadn't taken me to the back of a car, a temple of secrets, as if you hadn't possessed me like an elixir flowing through a thirsty soul. I wear my...

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Is life truly an art or just a messy canvas I never asked to touch, and death the same, a final brushstroke or just a fear hidden in dark corners? I ask this because, if life is art, then I suppose I am an artist, but shouldn't artists love what they create, find peace in their works, not feel...

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C A N V A S I ...

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Like as the waves make toward the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Quote from Shakespeare’s Sonnet LX ...

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Everyday you see Is clean canvas to enjoy Let's create good arts....

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My skin tells a tale, no shame, no regret/ Ink etched in darkness, paths firmly set/ Each mark a whisper, Occult and profound/ Symbols of magic, where shadows abound/ The inverted cross, a forearm's creed/ A testament to journey, to spirit and need/ Commanding respect, not of gangster lore/ But ancient rites, that my soul explores/ A clean life I walk, sober, legit/ No...

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The pool becomes a canvas, whitening all the scars that hurt, Allowing you to escape from the shadows that hide easily beneath the foam, As if the stains of being touched, wounded, and haunted, Had melted into the silent water that embraced you. As the heavy weight fills your lungs with silent water, A strange clarity emerges, drowning out lost...

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Shards of lambent moonlight drift across crumpled charcoal sky, gleaming snow clad laneways flaunt ancient ghostly footprint, dream world boisterous cabals lurk in blue ink shadows, glow worm street lights peer o’er nocturnal hour hush, swirling toll of dulcet midnight bells defrost black ice veil, mud stained slush from madcap drivers spray giggling sweethearts...

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