I've always wanted to be an artist,
So much brilliance could be created
Through my own, patient practice.
But I'm a misfit and frustrated.
The canvas mocks me, almost empty,
A void that mirrors my own soul.
To birth a world, so rich and tempting,
Is far beyond my weak control.
I wanted to sound like all those singers,
I've written poetry, a lot.
But my throat constricts and lingers
Each time I try to hit a note.
So I create another music,
With shattered dreams and splintered pride.
The rhythm's raw, the tone's abusive —
It's where my broken parts reside.
The artist
© Copyright: Виола Эллерт, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125120800358
Свидетельство о публикации №125120800358
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