Playing with Paint

This poem was written about a week ago. I tried to think of a metaphor for life, so I looked around and saw a painting my father did. Thus, this poem was created.

I was a canvas
Blank and waiting
Until Life began to paint
At first, a smaller paintbrush
Tiny Details
Pastel Colours
Brushes began to broaden
Colours changed their hue

I'm collecting a full pallet
Experimenting with patterns
Varying my strokes
Yes, there are dark patches
Corners of black
But in the very center
It's still the brightest white.

The 14th Day

I wrote this poem 2 valentines days ago. It was inspired by peoples behavior and mood on this one day of the year.

The day has left its scarlet mark
Petals of my solo rose,
Not yet floated down.
The streets are running pink and red,
Hands of lovers tightly clasped.
Beating hearts as one.
Our Hearts are overflowing still.
Heave a sigh for me.
Feel it overtake you.

On the fourteenth day I loved you,
and this warm love fills me still.

Lily

Again, sorry for not posting in a long, long time!
I wrote this poem a while ago, and just found inspiration in the simplest thing, a flower:

Stains in flash of colour.
To touch the vivid dust.
Bright and vibrant fingertips,
To leave an impression.

Gentle index finger,
and tinted orange thumb,
Delicate and sensitive,
Petals wrap around.

Unfurled upon the world.
Swirls of white and pink.
Leave my Lily set aside
Until it's held again.