The Old Stuff

Painful teardrops pierce her cheek �

She paints her weeping willow.

Throws the easel to the ground �

She curses at a pillow.

Paintbrushes and canvas,

Awkward left-handedness,

Side-speckled palm,

Trying to be calm.

Daggers falling from the sky �

Bristles color this image.

RED � wishing she could die.

She paints her scene�

�Out, damned spot; out I say!�

Lady Macbeth, the curse! It�s fallen on me!

I cannot see beyond this day,

This day of death � I will no longer be�

My canvas, melting before my eyes,

Colors dripping to the floor

In a mass of madness.

I�ve lost my allure.

My eyes no longer sparkle,

My lips no longer kiss,

My hands no longer write,

My life, it ends like this.

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Afzal Shauq's picture

really a good poem with rich idea.. love it..hope you go through my poems too

Brady Thompson's picture

A truely deep and powerful poem. I felt everything you were projecting through your words.. I could relate so well to this piece.

Good work!