Poezja

On the white canvas
My tears softly land
I know color is precious
And it is in my hand.
No color could wash them
The tears black and white
Through times ever the same
They drop to blur my sight.
It comes in the shape of a face
A look forlorn and sad
Pleading for only a little space
From a race obsessed and mad.
I know color is precious
And it is in my hand
Yet white remains the canvas
By tears that softly land!