Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Hanging With Cupid's Masterpieces

If Cupid were a mad painter,
His studio would be strewn
With canvas upon canvas,
Our deepest emotions splayed upon them
In slashes of vibrant color.
Most begin the same way,
Colors dancing passionately,
Harmoniously spreading across the canvas,
Yet some turn abruptly blank
And still more fade away,
The richness of the color,
The boldness of the brushstroke,
All wither away until there is nothing
Left worth drawing.
Cupid, the malevolent brushman,
Casts these aside, they interest him no longer,
His masterpieces they are not.
His masterpieces! The beauty,
The mastery his brushes display
In the pictures hung from hooks in the front,
His master works, those that refuse
To lose their glorious splendor.
The colors blend and complement,
The shape massages and teases the eye
And yet they are
So
Few.
One day we all aspire
To be the subject of his masterpiece,
To sit and be drawn, and colored,
Letting his harmony of colors wash over us,
Sweep us into a fantasy of passion,
As vibrant as his paintings,
And we want the depiction of our passions
To hang with Cupid’s masterpieces.



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