The canvas blank,
The lines are lost,
The shapes are gone,
The painter paused.
-
The colors are hidden
Within the mind,
But will it create them
Or leave them behind?
-
Within us a story
That might not exist,
And only our hand
Can release their bliss.
-
But the real story,
It's not so easy,
For motivation
Can be quite sleazy.
-
For the words will hide
And the chase will last,
With the wrong phrases
Your hand might cast.
-
But in the end,
A masterpiece in sight.
But we must decide,
If each one is right.
