Painting In The Dark

• Alexandra Winslow, Grade 8
• Poetry
• 2018

The air is crisp, hitting the back of my neck. I grasp the brush in my hand, for it drew my world.
The stars shine down at me, they put me on spotlight. The moon, an orb. It gives comfort to the lost ones.
My city is dull and lifeless, it brings no hope. It died long ago.
The small brush glides across the canvas in my hand, creating my joy.
I dot the spotlights, I plant the trees.
I smile as the picture paints itself.
I think of a life outside the city, on the coast or in a jungle.
Away from the concrete one that holds me.
I always thought we were alone out there, hidden amongst the stars.
A paradise surrounding murky darkness. Isolated.
The galaxy stretches along the page, guiding the way for whoever answers the call.
I hear that call.
It's distorted and backwards, I hate it. It's motives aren't strong enough to pull me away from my life.
My paints, my pencils, my canvas. I would much rather stay here, for this is where my brush is.
This is home.