Pure and untouched,
Ready to paint life,
On the textured surface,
Pondering where to begin,
And what colors to use.
Should life be unpredictable and dangerous,
Or safe and predictable?
With a stroke,
A day goes by.
Flashes of color and memory,
Stain the material.
Exhausting,
But it must be finished.
Strokes form objects
And objects are pieced together.
Covering what used to be
An empty canvas.
As the picture ages,
So does the painter.
A collage of life.
A canvas covered in color and memory,
Covered in paint strokes, blending, and outlines.
Sketching, scars, and tears,
A canvas long ago blank.
And when the picture is complete,
The painter is too.
This is not for criticism.
Comments
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“Exhausting,
But it must be finished.”
A very true depiction of life…how trying and cumbersome it can be, very much like creating a painting. Oh, and how much nerve it takes just to make that very first stroke…how easy it feels to be able to destroy a painting with one bad little stroke, how it is so fragile and unpredictable- life truly is an art. Every life is a masterpiece. This poem portrays that so eloquently and beautifully. Such a gorgeous metaphor. How life begins as a blank canvas, and we paint our own lives, ending with a masterpiece, a great work of art. “As the picture ages,
So does the painter.” I just loved those lines, there. Such eloquence, and then, those last six line made a masterful finish, and leave the reader with a great deal of thought and reflection. Ugh, such soul in this piece. I adore it, very well done! Such grace in the flow and wording, beautiful use of language.
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