Poem by Clarissa
Walking canvases, bursting with color
All different, but still very similar to each other
Mainly yellow and green
Were the ones that were seen
Often with a splash of red embraced by Blue
Every once in a while, they would renew
New shades would be added
Challenges would be combated
The designs would elaborate
In this, So difficult for me, it was to collaborate
It didn’t matter if my pencil work was the best,
For conformity was the most important test
My colors just weren’t the same.
I didn’t care, to the rare use of purple I took a claim.
And so my art became
With the exception of a burst of crimson red
My canvas was burried amongst an indigo dread
Until the canvas was drowned in paint,
With no restraint
It began drip
I watched with insanity
At this calamity
Untill my memory of color began slip
Eventually, the raw design was the only thing in sight
I suppose I was meant to be black and white
As the time has passed, so has my will to fight
To defeat the one thing I can not conquer, my own plight
Now, I examine every line
Searching for some sort of sign
That will help me remember the vibrance
But all I find, is silence
Every thought always ends the same All I feel is stale pain
