Envision.
Paint falls to canvas
carrying with it the
imagination of time.
Landscapes,
made of strokes
miniscule and
bold.
Buildings,
made of the sun’s shades,
struggle not to melt in darkness.
Faces,
weary from history,
are reduced to dots.
They wonder if,
when,
they could leap
from canvas.
👁 4💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.