Christina K

Fault of Imagination

Everything I wrote was an art piece.

The paint spilled out of my heart

and the inspiration came from my soul.

I formed images through color.

I molded mountains with my hands

and I sculpted statues of gold.

But then I looked down.

And the paper was smeared with lead.

My words did not fill the page.

It was ugly

and it sounded ugly too.

I pictured my art as something it was not

and I reaped the consequences

of my folly.