The Artist’s Sonnet

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The artist cannot see beyond her sphere

of reds and rusts which bleed from life’s pained heart.

The colors scream their silent song of fear

pretending nothing hurs; life ala carte.

 

I  paint within the limits of my life;

a smorgasbord of unappealing hues.

A canvas lacking any two toned strife

which blooms the rose from winter’s whites and blues.

 

I don’t know when the picture window clears

to let in light beyond the shadowed cold;

unmasking fettered sight from unmarked tears

as passion’s pain breaks free of death’s stronghold.

 

Please teach me how to love as life goes on

in time, the duckling may become a swan.

©Colette Freedman

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