The Artist

In attempt to capture beauty, an artist drew his brush

And with careful contemplation, decided not to rush.

He diped it first in yellow, to represent the past

Carefree happy childhood days, that never seemed to last. 

He spread it gently at the top, to serve as a bright base,

For all of beauty stems from this, or so was thought the case.

His next choice being crimson, which represented love,

With deep and rich emotion, it seemed sent from above.

With hurried brush strokes, he rushed in, to blur what he'd begun,

As usually the case with love, love's urgency had won.

But grey began to call to him, to make it's presence known

For his experience with love was dark, and so his sadness shone. 

He pressed his brush into the hue, with carefulness and ease,

The way that he had shared his heart, so eager for to please.

The color seemed to grace his work, as if was meant to be,

And with each stroke upon his love, he felt his pain set free.

Then white called out to speak of grace, and purity to share

Excitement built from deep within, he could feel it in the air.

He took a brush full, sparring none, and began to let it fall

But when he finished, stepping back, he saw he'd covered all.

He's canvas lay before him now, as white as at the start

but something different lay beneath, an intricate new part.

For deep below life's beauty, lay forgiveness pure and sweet

His work was done, life's beauty won, his masterpiece complete.

Reviews

[emipoemi]

I have no words....my voice is in my awe!! Well done!

[Blake Fodor]

A beautiful piece of yourself