In your picture book I try hard to see In every movement you compose a symphony Painting pointless pictures of dreams decent and endless times of us well spent On broken stained glass windows In a mystic surreality of sculpting shapeless objects and at the swipe of the brush Our potential is gone and you no longer see the art in me.
Reason for writing:
A recent friendship broken
Birth sign: Not entered
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View more poems by Ruben Blade = Virgo.