Paint. Paintings. Artwork. Art. Pieces.
A little of red paint,
Some blues,
Some blacks,
Some greens,
Some purples.
A blank white boring wall waiting to be coloured.
A Jackson Pollock to be, so they say.
Spatters of red, maybe blood red, crimson.
Droplets of blue and purple, ripples and ridges.
Splotches of black and green, satelites included.
Dark grey eyes gleaming with sadness.
Silver blue tears drawing medium pink streaks on her paled cheek.
Purple red blotches scattering her eyes.
Dark shaking takes over her body.
Black pen lettering onto white crumpled paper.
Sadness pouring out through every sway of her pen.
Dark pink indents in her middle and index fingers.
Those streams on her face becoming a darkened red.
Her dark grey eyes changing to a midnight blue.
A smooth white cloth against her cheek,
Oh how she wished it was his tan fingertips.
A pale complexion soon in focus.
Darkness, a pitch black takes over.
Soon a restless night will take control.
The strongest of dark is used here to portray a desolate mood - -you have done that so well Shannon it describes freshly the state of capitulation to sadness. An adeptly crafted verse.