Her hands tremble as she runs them across the canvas,
Red streaks like blood,
Something from nothing,
Cool wet color staining hands,
Depicting chaos to preserve order, sanity,
The illusion of control.
They came to her domain today,
the witch hunting, terror seeking, expression banning - the Silence laws
came too close green now on her fingers moving on the canvas- it's useless,
the Speakers are disappearing, the advocates are enriching the soil as forget-me-nots grow above mass graves.
They are banning her art, her life, they are killing her like they did her child.
Examples must be made, she imagined they said over coffee,
Lets make it easy, let's have a contest.
Her baby, her 8 year old baby with the hands that never stayed clean
with the smudge of yellow acrylic paint always on her right cheek
won the country wide art contest and they shot her baby
for creating a painting that made people hope, talk, dream, and the war against expression raged on
Blue streaks on a canvas her mind is gone,
It's a blank canvas. it's a new sheet in an eight year-old's sketch pad.
her body clings to paint and surface in the absence of mental direction.
it tries to make something from nothing;
order from chaos.
Sanity is gone with the hands stained with marker and paint.
She saw her baby fall dead with a hole between the eyes as a
fear ridden government painted terrorists on the air with her blood,
and the approaching Silence draws nearer.
so there you have it the second in the Silence series, hope you like it, or better yet, i hope you write something that outshines it and let me know so I can post it. thanks to those who've shown interest :)