Cara Inacabada | Literary

You see monochromes and that shade of black

Wonder in awe, in the words of a blabbermouth

Even in the depths of fears, in the lowest of the crevices

Can't fill the gap that's filled with spaces

When autumn cried crimson, lay those leaves of oblivion

Down to the ground where once we saw our lives catch up from season to season

But even the morning dew when winter reached its cathartic end

Can't paint the picture where colors profusely bled

Age-old tales of time-sunken trees spread like wildfire in summer

Preaching truths of empty canvas and blots on the paper

Even the stories of strokes, tainted and tinted emotions forged like stained glass

Can't mend the mem'ries of figmental faces from the distant present and past