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Finger Painting



Finger-Painting
A warrior grazes on the beast of death.
While finger-painting marks the walls
As bombs fall within it's darken halls
With a sighing planets on its last breath.

Once a world of beliefs now reneged
The shells near not its intended mark.
Thunderbolts drop on the man of dark.
While the orb spits upon who begged.

No intervention from an earth in peril grasp.
Tree's burn in flames, houses flare in vain,
Nothing still stands by the criminally insane.
Like a tool upon the land leaving a barren rasp.

As a man's childish world of finger-painting art
Destroyed in him from a life he now departs.







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Submitted on July 05, 2016

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Norman Wilson Claim this poet

IntroductionForgotten are the times the tick of a clock once chimed sobering sounds that caressed my hearts nightly dreams. As I awaken to the touch of light that burns upon a candles wick flickering my words for all to see. This drives my thoughts through the darkest of nights of loneliness that renders my quill upon parchment with ink that dances to minds and souls.Now I hear the screeching of my heart when the blue horizon covers the orb of emptiness.Within the shelter of my mind with little, purpose other than my words that keep me sane. These are my new poems I have written in the quiet of my night, forever wished away in a writer’s pain. As I strive to write that perfect poem that, my soul desperately seeks. Then and only then can my words rest upon a sleep. more…

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    "Finger Painting" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 27 Nov. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/71240/finger-painting>.

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