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With deepest intent she sits with her back to me
Slashing away at a blank piece of space
Inscribing imagination so brutally
Lapping up canvas, conveying her taste
I’m sitting here staring in my own dab of grey
A primer existence in a mural embrace
I feel so alone with her three feet away
That I find myself certainly falling from grace
She uses her talent to elude real emotion
As the colours are swirling around in her head
She’s painting the sun as it bleeds for the ocean
But she bleeds herself from me so surely instead
Her abstracting Love in a post modern heart
Can only conflict her grisaille repose
If only she knew of the one place to start
I could lose my conditional need to expose
But I can live with the distance in all she creates
I can sense the intense concentration
Though I find that I constantly splattered with hate
When she’s mixing her nuance frustration
But the colours unite in a sated embrace
She’s brought back to me with her image content
Congested digestion of a desolate space
And I scold myself sore for being hell-bent
But it won’t take her long ‘til she’s off once again
To debate and create a bravura complete
And she knows that I’ll always be there as her friend
As my selfishness firmly conveys my defeat


Peter Horsman

Bridgewater, Australia

  • Artist

Artist's Description

A poem I wrote for an artist friend of mine several years ago.

desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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