Blank Canvas
Blank Canvas
Empty and bare
Gleaming with potential
Raw and unadulterated
Like a web waiting to ensnare ideas
as they float by
Thoughts as they escape the prison
of my mind
The surface beckons to be soaked
with vibrant color
First it whispers,
Then it screams
Tickle
me with your soft brush
Use
me
Deep blues and bright reds
Violet hazes and winter grays
Lush green, and juicy oranges
Neon rainbows against pitch black
I
am a creation for capturing creation
You
molded and made me
You
fashioned and forged me
I
am your humble servant
Your
will is my will
Quickly the Artist grabs his weapon
of choice
The trusty sword he calls Sir Marks
a lot
A fury of lines and it is begun
The faces he sees stare back at
him
They are crude and unrefined
He begins to fill them in.
One is missing a nose
Another an eye
Look this one has no lips.
When all the blind can see
And the mutes are choir worthy
The artist may rest and dream
He dreams of blank canvas