Tortured Portrait Poem by Nathaniel Colbert

Left helpless like a contorted corpse, it's grave tilled by falling leaves
Never meant to be alone with a contrivance with lost capacity to grieve
A painful portait i must conceive:
Brush stokes in flesh, pink, black and pain; obscene...
Pigments touched jagged to finish with acetelyne
An immolation of creation is but one true creation
When the pastel clouded brilliance give endless aspirations
Yet we feel the Earth, and kiss the dirt
Holding so hard that we don't fall away...
October's leaves still spiral, stripping the limbs,
Floating past a girl, her eyes growing dim
She wanders through blindness, biding her time,
Only wondering if kindness can still cross her mind.
(and the leaves turn to snowflakes, and another epilogue leaves it's conclusion, hoping to satiate a world looking for some answers in all this darkness and despair.)