Not An Artist

Poetry

To illustrate a lady
weeping through a canvas
with sorrow on her eyes
and her heart on the ground.

To draw the man I saw
on the cafe last Thursday
with his lovely profile
and the rare fashion style.

To sketch the judgments
of my unintelligent mind
along with the frail soul
in a body that will expire.

To paint those feelings
indefinable and abstract
with colors you will desire
and emotions that can fly.

To leave you hanging
on a room filled with aliens
gazing into my grand works
while realizing you never tried.

This is in response to the Daily Post’s writing prompt Practice Makes Perfect?.

Gone

Poetry

You shouldn’t forget the past,
no matter how good or bad it was.
But if you feel like reminiscing
those of your previous happenings,
be sure to think not much
while recalling any circumstance.
You wouldn’t wanna cry
after that short while
of looking back at the things
you’ve already left behind.