Canvas Poem by Adora Williams

My soul slips through my hand, that produces words while life pretends
To be the blue created by a god, and blood screams the world of men
As the rain is cried by the sky, in silver gleam remains from the goddess satellite
Last night

Like a canvas of mystery
I try to paint the vista with decoratif vibrant tones
It turns into a muddy tint — Mona Lisa's smile;
Apathy — along with those who walk alone

I feel like life is only that... a baulk

I like to make my own tempera
Cold tones that fade to gold before the conclusion
But I dropped the egg before it could dream
The graffiti ebbed to ink
It worked somehow, but it wasn't put to the proof

And as I thought my creation was complete
Once again tears from heaven are washing the grit