Running Colors

a poem for the broken

Like the pastels of water color washed in salty tears
I am melted down the canvas I have built on all these years
The vibrancy and giddy laughter drip onto the floor
As puddles of the past make rippling pools collecting more
The painting now unfolds to find a blurred face of the aged
Stricken of it's line and gesture, left only with its rage
A storm of strokes that now defines a life bled into dark
Yellow rays the last to fall as hatred leaves its mark
Ugliness and tyranny broke down the canvas frame
Leaving this "masterpiece" now streaks bearing no name