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 for all those who need.