Well ... I wrote this short gothic...fausty poem for a competition in my college festival and won the first place...No I'm not gothic... I just think I am very imaginative...
The Artist's Soul
The Artist used to paint every second Sunday,
When muses his soul reached,
And his heart moved his hands,his soul,his heart,
And his inner darkness the canvas seeked.
A mere stick was I,with hair at its end,
Assisting him in his daily forte,
Feeling his depth,so dark,so cold,
I felt every stroke he made.
The gallery he displayed,the paintings he'd paint,
Was empty on a regular basis,
And he sorrowed he misfortune,Alone in his living room,
Quiet in the still of the darkness.
Until the day ,she walked and said,
"What beauty this painting holds,
Of sorrow and happiness,light and darkness,
What imagination must this artist hold!!!".
And he looked at her and fell in love,
The devil in the black dress
And decided to paint only for her,
That witch of wickedness.
And he painted & painted,Till my tips were almost worn,
And became possesed by the easel,
And he stroked & stroked,Till I could take it no more,
I wanted to break and leave him.
But my inverse downfall,my immortality,
Infinite the life of a brush,
No I couldn't stop my dear master,
I couldn't stop him much.
For that very evening,he met with the devil,
And his soul unto him was sold,
In return for inspiration,"The devil... his muse"...
This news I couldn't hold.
And that night he painted,till his very last breath...
Of gargoyles and demons,And the witches of Macbeth...
Mermaids and fairies,griffins and harpies,
His paintings told unseen and gothic stories,
And consumed in this insanity,he cursed the devil,
And laughed to think of his deal,
Which angered Lucifer,who took back his word...
And destroyed everything he could see...
My fate ended there along with the rest of my friends,
As to ashes i was burned to the bone,
And eternity in flames,T'was the artists fate,
To live forever in sorrow.
But the paintings, the demon, destroyed he did not...
But made sure they were never seen.
And brought them to life,leaving empty canvas',
The horrific stories unleashed...
The witches made their way out of the painting
as their cats pounced free...
While griffins roared and harpies screeched
Over the devils victory.
And all in a split second, it all ended
Nothing was anymore.
Deep infinity,darkness & rapture,
The only thing left was the artists soul.
