Painted Pictures
There's a truth in a
painted picture of grass,
as it's sways aside to reveal
secrets. In poppies that
grow bittersweet red and black,
that drank the sorrow and tried
to forget. To dancing fields
that grow from years
of crushed, decaying, pitiful lives,
to form those magnifiscent
oceans of cerulean upon gold.
Truths that cascade over storms,
rushes to help those caught in the
betraying winds and cold.
There's a glistening truth in
all sadness
