As I waited for my love to make up her mind.
The Artist Of Love
by Vincent Hathway
I sit here, waiting.
For what, people ask?
For you to remember me,
As the man you said that
You wanted to spend
The rest of your life with.
Remember the first time
You told me that you loved me?
When, between us, all was right?
Or was that some wishfull dream,
That I had on some lonely night?
The stars have disappeared in the sky,
The rain is pouring down.
The seasons stopped in my eyes,
When you forgot who I was
And left me sitting here.
So, here I sit, sometimes standing
On some unknown artists canvas,
Dull, in shades of black and grey.
The artist seems to have
Just dropped the paintbrush,
As they turned and walked away.
I can not think, I can not talk,
As I realise that You,
The artist have left me behind
without even a note.
Everything was just so beautiful,
Just a few moments ago in time.
So now I just sit and wait,
Hoping for the moment that
You decide to pick up
Your brush and complete
Our masterpiece in
Bright colours, rainbow bright.
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