The Picture

Member since 2002 · Posted 14 Dec 2006 · 1 comment

Zealous and orange was my âcrayolaâ Sun. Shards were made by sleeves as I brushed away crushed wax. My father was an orb, I drew him indigo eyes making the edges perfect. He breathed grey curls next to scribbled brothers. I drew my Mother straight by Tulips she planted, crossed her auburn hair out yet made her lips Pink pressing till the crayon snapped so her beauty wouldnât fade. I drew myself by her side, shadow black next to Jesus who I stabbed a year later with the mocking sun on the day when I prayed by a vase of fresh tulips for life to pink again.

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3 votes so far. Yours would make 4.3 votes so far

1 comment

[8] Dovina 14-Dec-06/12:57 PM Reply

I like this up to the last stanza. There, the angst about Jesus seems another subject, detracting from the unique way this picture was painted or drawn.