• swaying_letters 22w

    The jovial artist

    There are patches of a satin pink
    And slivers of a fine crimson
    That settles on the walls
    And the glass that faces the weather
    Raindrops don't shimmer
    Against the window panes
    Yet her colours are the things that shine
    And her hands are stained by their drops
    Outside her window the climate is a grey
    But she holds a sun beneath her sky
    The one she created on a whim
    The grim weather mocks her
    And offers her a clue
    As to how the reality can be a doom
    And the canvas can hold lies
    It says—
    "That's solely a false picture
    You paint on the white surface
    See for yourself the truth
    You so frequently run away from."
    She replies back with a swiftness
    "Truth can have its forms
    And the one you hold
    Isn't something I ignore
    But there's another I'd strived to find
    In the hidden corners of a mayhem
    The dull cannot harness my heart
    For I still offer it to see
    How all things aren't dank and grey
    And sun beams exist
    Even in places made of shadows
    So don't make me fret
    And wail in the face of your grimness
    For there is sunshine in my heart.
    And I chose to pour it on my canvas."