A Wooden Box Easel

Chocolate dew and melted rain.

Putting all these illusions into a frame.

Art that spoke to you.

painting and then stamping your name.

They call it science but it would not be fair game.

You are an artist that is your name.

With spells that bring out color in awkward directions.

A masterpiece never before agreed with too much affection.

The box creates life and in your hands existence.

Without changing distance a dance with Dreamland ignition.

Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741