Art

In a paint-splattered room,
An artist stood before a canvas
Ready to be brought to life.
He raised his hand, unsteady;
His confidence wavered, unsure;
But slowly, oh-so slowly, he
Moved his brush forward
To oh-so gently bring forth life.
Oh! I watched that artist
Paint a hundred colors,
Make a thousand strokes,
Create a million scenes with his brush -
But not once did my eyes see
Him make a single mistake.

And when the artist turned to me,
I was saddened to see failure in his eyes.
Explaining that he'd made a grievous error,
And pointing out a dozen flaws,
He asked me to take it away - but I refused.
He told me it was worthless - but I denied it.
He told me it was ugly - but my opinion differed.

He told me it was trash -
But I told him it was art.

And motioning to a mirror, my artist smiled
And slowly, oh-so slowly, faded from view.