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Rated: E · Poetry · Contest Entry · #1674573
A poem about Salvador Dali and what he's left behind.
The swirl of colors held no compare
When held beneath the light, morning air.
Rays of the sun refract through the dew,
Making the colors more vibrant for you.

When dealing with a Salvador Dali painting,
The observer is left wanting, waiting,
For more artwork to finally emerge,
Like a rising sun that, the night, does purge.

Melting time, a broken umbrella,
A nervous-looking, mustachioed fella’
Who some may conjecture was Dali, the man,
Though rumors fizzle like a flash in the pan.

No more works; no more art;
No vistas of time falling apart.
Dali is gone, but the colors still swirl;
A reminder: this is an unstable world.

Line Count: 16
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