The Classic Oil Painting - Poem by Dexsta Ray
Tis perfect fit in the wall...
Lifting off the still life
Consistent, pitch converted
Wish to listen
It's a shrill sight
Simply rigid is it?
Minutes shatter, last, after crafters...
Black slabs of this sit
Orange mixed in
Which lit the sky
With a pinch of green
Mixed in and then a singe of cream
Clench the eye
'Gainst the sails
Mostly night, without the stars, but the image showed It well
The broken shells could tell a story
Sold to blowing breeze
Own and held
Coast and sea, to unveil the glory
Something from it
Like a ghost
Froze, tumbling, know it fell, whether
Static or the type that repeats
The oil passes hope
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