No Masterpiece

I prayed for the enemy that could have been my friend
I wept to think a game of chess might bring a bitter end
Forced to play the darker side
No paint can change the wave or tide
The palette has blurred, the image obscured
No masterpiece this eve
An unsteady hand is not so grand
And the watery eye deceives.
I know--
Pain will always make words flow, be they wrong or right
And so I guess since my heart's a mess, I'll say a lot tonight.
Shall I yell out the gritty?
Or call out the shitty?
Or fake and talk pretty
For you?
What if you find that the hues of my mind
Have painted things real, clear and true...?