Gone.
Gone away, far away are the vibrant colours.
I beg come back
to witness the emptiness in my eyes.
I stare at blank walls. They're free, birds
flapping their wings in the vast sky, going.
Going far away, away from oppression.
I stare at blank walls to find abandonment and
bareness staring back, "the painters disappeared", they say.
Gone. Gone away with time.
Chasing after time.
A race lost before it begun.
A race never to be won.
And witnesses witnessed vestiges of a life lost.
See: the paint left splashed on the floor,
a pair of shoes here, an apron there and
brushes scattered on the wooden desk.
They left decades too early, in a mad rush.
I beg not for vacancy.
I shut my eyes.
Waiting.
Waiting for the rebirth of colours.
YOU ARE READING
Peeling clementine
PoetryThis is a collection of poems I've written this year. I wrote most of them at night, whilst the rest of the world was fast asleep. At night my brain seems to be more active, it's when I start to question everything. In this book you'll find themes s...
