Post by Ramona on Jul 3, 2005 12:09:41 GMT -8
Etched on a canvas,
With threads of red,
His mind fell undone,
Without her breaths.
The streaks of passion,
Painted in gold,
Gave you a message,
With buried deception.
The bristles of the brush,
Tipped with white,
Opened the hope,
He locked in a bottle.
The angles obtuse,
Show you the retaliation,
He wished to endure,
But never met to the eye.
The lines of black,
Parallel and endless,
Were the times she ran,
And never looked back.
The paintings his life,
Suppressed in his soul,
Beating a lullaby,
To sing him to sleep.
The art was his escape,
From the melancholy eyes,
He saw through the reflection,
Of the beauty he adored.
Etched on the canvas,
Painted in pain,
Laid the colors of her life,
She used to drown him,
In crimson pastels.
By behindTHEmask
With threads of red,
His mind fell undone,
Without her breaths.
The streaks of passion,
Painted in gold,
Gave you a message,
With buried deception.
The bristles of the brush,
Tipped with white,
Opened the hope,
He locked in a bottle.
The angles obtuse,
Show you the retaliation,
He wished to endure,
But never met to the eye.
The lines of black,
Parallel and endless,
Were the times she ran,
And never looked back.
The paintings his life,
Suppressed in his soul,
Beating a lullaby,
To sing him to sleep.
The art was his escape,
From the melancholy eyes,
He saw through the reflection,
Of the beauty he adored.
Etched on the canvas,
Painted in pain,
Laid the colors of her life,
She used to drown him,
In crimson pastels.
By behindTHEmask