I hold the brush in my shaking hand.
Time passes by like hourglass sand.
The stars are shining, the moon is new.
I sit to paint and think of you.
Sitting in front of the empty page.
I feel my guilt and remember your rage.
How could I throw our love away?
I let you go—couldn’t make you stay.
A swipe of yellow and dabs of blue.
I use my brush like I used you. Those heavy lines that curve and bend.
They show our love—they show its end.
I paint the lines but this is true:
No paint can show the good in you Our love is gone, now—empty, used
And gone forever is you, my muse.
Your love was sweet as summer rain.
And in your absence there’s only pain.
Your name is always on my lips.
And this brush stays in my fingertips.
I paint you as night turns into day.
I do not know another way.
To fight the urge to rage and scream.
Too afraid to sleep, afraid to dream
I paint you through my painful tears.
I paint my pain, your hopes, our fears.
But you are gone and I’m bereft
With nothing but this painting left.

© butterfly2420