The Artisan Knight Poem by Makayla Johnson

Here I am, the gallant knight,
trapped in a room where I cannot fight.
Here I am silent and still,
gazing out the windowsill.

I paint the world outside my cell,
dragons and demons fight as well
as the battles raging in my head,
the harrowing feeling that I might be dead.

I let my brush sweep the skies,
I build a world full of whys.
Dizzily, I speckle stars
and give new life to planet Mars.

But footsteps break me from my page,
I pace inside the mental cage,
my mind is melting with my brush,
its colours dulled, no longer lush.

I hear them calling out my name
but I must paint just one more frame,
dripping down across the sheet,
I let the colour stain my feet.

One with art and art has won,
I'm done, dear god, at last I'm done.
I cannot take the pain much more,
the voice who screams, my mind so sore.

So here I am, the gallant knight,
who has long since lost his final fight.
Here I am, my mind a flood,
painting pretty pictures with blood.