harsh jasper
In hues of blue, a tale unfolds,
A crayon's heart, so pure, so cold.
Within this world of vibrant art,
Lies a soul, torn and torn apart.
In a box of colors, bright and gay,
The blue crayon dreams to find its way.
But as it draws on paper's plane,
A sadness deep, it can't explain.
For every shade it brings to life,
Its own color fades, a lonely strife.
While others bloom with every stroke,
The blue crayon's spirit starts to choke.
Its cerulean dreams now lost in haze,
A melancholy lingers in its gaze.
Amidst the laughter and the cheer,
The blue crayon hides its quiet tear.
"Why am I cursed with somber dye?
A sorrow's hue, I can't deny."
In solitude, it bears the weight,
Of being blue in a world so great.
Yet in this sadness, it finds release,
Creating oceans, skies, and peace.
The tears it sheds on canvas' face,
Birth masterpieces, filled with grace.
Each stroke an echo of its plight,
A glimpse into its soul's dark night.
The world admires the art it wields,
But the blue crayon's heart remains congealed.
So spare a thought for this crayon's plight,
Lost in the vastness of colors so bright.
Though its pigment may forever mourn,
In its sadness, art is born.
neon birch
livid latch