I believe that peace is obtained through war, What I mean by this is if there wasn’t war how would we know what peace is? Essentially this poem is about my personally struggle with art in itself but reflecting on war.
Peace is a stroke of a paintbrush as it touches the canvas and leaves its mark
The smell of acrylic as it dries into a creation
Putting the mind into the hands and releasing to it a familiar freedom
Clashing pigments of blues and reds causing the white to retreat
Leaving the once clear liquid being invaded by a new tint
Streaks of colour on your skin that you refer to as battle wounds healed with soap and water
The discoloration of a no-longer blank t-shirt
And surrendering to an inanimate object your mind
The war of art
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