They say poetry can sometimes come from tragedy
A Silver winning poem by me from the pages of Allpoetry.com
The poet picked up
the photo from the floor
it left an impression
Pressed down in the ground
by an empty bottle of Merlot
encased in finest green
Work of perfection,
destroyed in a moment
by the Artist’s hand
Angelic Form in pastel pink
now sullied in vermillion red
where did she travel to ?
Disappeared out of Sight,
Artists darkened thoughts bright
Across canvass
Phone Call to friend…
Despair down line sends
Ambulance round bend.
The Inkwell 
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