Chromatic Elegy

In the canvas of her soul, colors bleed and flow, A symphony of hues that dance in silent woe. Her lips, a crimson flame, speak of secrets untold, While tears of white and gold cascade like rivers of gold. The canvas is her face, a canvas of despair, Yet beauty emerges from the chaos of the air. Her eyes, though hidden, seem to gaze into the night, A silent witness to the world's eternal plight. The paint drips down her form, a river of emotion, Each stroke a story, each hue a deep devotion. She stands as a beacon, a testament to time, A soul in flux, yet eternally sublime. For in her visage, we see ourselves reflected, A mirror of our pain, our joy, our unspoken words. Her art is a journey, a path we all must tread, A reminder that beauty can rise from the dead. So let her colors guide you, let her tears be your light, For in her elegance, we find our own delight.