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Rhyan S. A Paint's LifeEach can with its own personality No batch exactly alike Each has a best friend A mint green complementing and matching perfectly to a forest pine But no being is perfect, there’s always an opposite An enemy, an ugly rotting murky yellow ready to wreck any marvelous beauty It can be overshadowed by the bright florescence of a neighboring wall Staying unnoticed for all its beauty Paint has its own life cycle A baby, it’s fresh from a mix of parent colors Still a sticky wet gooey liquid A child eager but not yet ready to venture into the world When released too early marks will be left Smudges that will travel with them throughout life The older she gets the more troubles and scar it accumulates She cracks slowly, forming like crinkly wrinkles Flakes slowly fall like a snow flurry stretched out over time Leaving spots and speckles of white wash peeping through out of its covers Her color worn away and faded to its palest shade Sooner or later it will be replaced too old to go on New paint on the tip of a fresh brush sweeps the old away Erasing her preceded as if there never was one An unkempt messy and grouchy armor Hiding a hidden smooth graceful depth On one canvas it is famous worth millions Traveling around the world to see and be seen On another paper it sits on a fridge Happily thinking about the stain it left on the white rug earlier Paint can be anything it wants It is a window, looking into a designer’s talent A tarp, covering that which no longer wants to be seen A disguise hiding the truth But paint is just one person [BACK TO TABLE OF CONTENTS, CLASS OF 2008 EDITION] |
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