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Hue less swirls submerge into the mist,
greeting absent traces of what exists.
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Murky shades of the bluest grays,
freeze on order and then fade away.
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An artist’s stroke is monochrome,
colorless, creativity is gone.
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Shady lines separate before brush can touch.
Strokes distance themselves from color crutch.
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Dreary are the dark willows which weep.
Acrylic floats above but into canvas seeps.
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Insipidness, fingers are cold.
Canvas is mine to have and hold.
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Secluded under constrained layers,
talent faded now by a dream slayer.
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A missing swirl drips into the mist,
leaving absent traces of what exists.
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by Felicia Lujan _7.2.2012