All Poetry

Canvas.

Imprisoned
to the depths
of turbid waters
long submerged
is the weight of
a bruised heart
its flesh marred
by the beating
of a tide’s unrest.

Numbed
are her fists upon
splintered walls

the scarlet flow
of secrets divulged
onto a tapestry-
a living portrait
unveiled
for all to see.


52 replies »

  1. Call me an old structuralist at heart, but the construction of this poem is very impressive! Much like the canvas you allude to, you paint the words beautifully and precisely, pulling our eyes where they need to go. Fantastic!

  2. Oh the heart’s canvas is always colorful…..sometimes RED with passion or even anger….sometimes pastel with happiness…..or black/grey in depression. We are a living canvas. Beautiful poem Phoebe.

    Pam

  3. A little disturbing, which the “poppy impression/human profile” accentuates rather well, but sadly makes a statement of our realities. Well done Phoebe. 🙂

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