Paintings

Every day I work till night,

It was very bright,

One night was different,

Everything was insignificant,

My work came to life,

This made me strife,

Woken from my slumber,

I started to dial a number,

My hand was stopped,

Then my body dropped,

Scared and alone I cried,

I knew I needed to hide,

Outside roamed my creations,

As my army paintings went to their stations,

The colors of my paint,

They all began to faint,

Splattering the colors everywhere,

How could this be fair,

As one caught my eye,

I looked to the sky,

I started to cry,

The sky was one of my paintings,

This was very fascinating,

Then I woke safe in bed,

Grateful I wasn’t dead.

Author Notes: This is just random, but read if you want to. Have fun reading, and any ideas are welcome for new poems!

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