Opted in silence and built like a fence
Held by congruent feelings of loneliness
And suffrage made by the beauty of a hue or a base.
The paint was stroked on the canvas like soft winds
Made for an everlasting day of forever.
A smile melted on her sweet lips and like so
She was the poet of art, misunderstood but not mislead,
The closely held bliss of a mix to a powerful word,
Developed from a picture that held a frame.
Her heart was one that beat quickly but simmered down to a soft hollow.
She, was shattered but not completely broken,
She was forgotten.
She was motionless, a lost art picked up and thrown down,
She was now worthless,
Or so she had once thought,
Her thoughts becoming worth more than she.
She was a masterpiece in the ever cool breeze,
Created by a clear bright base.
Stroked but a stranger to the tip.
Started but never finished.
Written by Veemo Starr