Torn Love
The colors set before me
Don’t blend, mix, or stir.
They sit as if asleep
or sick, waiting for a cure.
A swishing sound and
they awake, completely unaware.
Now they move about the paper
with not a single care.
I look upon this master-piece,
A lovely work of art.
Then suddenly the wind
Comes and tears it all apart.
I blink my eyes,
Shed a single tear,
And look upon my heart.
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