Shades turned to grey
The picture distills clear
Of why I am here.
Easiest put - it starts with a cold shoulder
A minute earlier, it was a safe haven.
Comfortably slipping away,
All lies uncovered the day after, now today.
A loser locked behind bars,
Unfortunately released from a love of a far.
Easier now to lift out of this black hole,
With an example of life image, that there is no more.
No future to see,
That won't be me.
The flower is picked,
Only in his hands, will his life be fixed.
Aroma fuming my ever most senses,
Tap my shoulder to feel your presence.
What beauty has been found,
Someone's past to drown.
Just like Picasso's blue period,
We all, as artists, have many stages,
Each with a similar exterior.
Still in one,
Eventually to change, but now all poems will match to some.
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