Oil On Canvas

Oil On Canvas short poem

Photo by lisamurray

The dead moon’s framed portrait
Hung from the prussian blue sky,
Staring downwards into the
Lighted lonely city –
With a well practiced air
Of indifference.

The pond with green waters
And a cemented bank,
Where local kids wash their feet
After a football match,
Has fallen silent at this hour
Flaunting unabashedly a cheap replica –
Of the dead moon’s yellowing portrait.

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Oil

Oil long poem

The oil came deep, from underneath. the earth could bleed, her blood was black. But men knew not___ they pierced her skin. It all seemed fair, but deep within. She cried aloud, and gasped for air. They took her oil,

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The sky, My canvas on which I paint The colors of my life Using strokes of the clouds Dipped in the palette of wind… Do i wish for the stars? Or the moon? Or is it just the plain simple