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Pièce De Résistance

He smiles at a blank canvas
Waiting to be filled with colour,
Everything is still and just as
He sits here, content with his lover.

A brush of blue,
A lick of purple,
Soft pastels break the page as
He sits and paints, non-verbal.

Watercolours next
Deeper and intense,
He plays with the canvas
Left with no defence.

Paint slaps on
A pristine mess,
The colours begin to blend
As the canvas is undressed.

The canvas - defending,
The brush - a javelin,
The colours - hiding,
The painter - battling.

The canvas, now bedaubed in red,
It gushes, clashes and smashes
From top to bottom it strikes -
Clearly apparent but somehow passes.

Truly - a work of art!
So why must it be concealed?
The painting, it cools,
The paint, congeals.

In the beginning,
He owned a canvas, full of life and new,
In the end it's
Left - for the world to construe.

His piece de resistance!
Resistance Is at Peace.
The painting it hangs,
The paint a decease.

He smiles at a full canvas.
Penetrated, infiltrated with colour.
Everything is still and just as
He sits content - and my bruises grow duller.

by © Eren Mirza (0)
Beauchamp College, Leicester

Competition - War Of Words

Copyright remains with the author.