Playing the Blues

Form: Quatrains

As moonlit midnight skies drift in wonder
To the dawn of the new sapphire sunrise,
My dreams turn to the muse that lies yonder,
My brush seeks out her cerulean eyes.
The artist lost to her cold heart of steel,
As paint so creates the cloudless figures.
My indigo tears flow, each stroke I feel
Of portrayals, she greets with snide sniggers.
The muse tears my soul with cobalt nails
Every one of my senses wears a bruise.
Artist with windless ultramarine sails
So now I am just sat, playing the blues


2 thoughts on “Playing the Blues

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