Painting

Our dreams are paint,

Their pursuit a canvas,

And we as artists

Must kiss the white with

The images, vivid hues,

Dancing figures of

Our imagination.

 

We feel compelled to

Create a masterpiece,

A painting just as great

As the others around us. So

We try to draw lines that we

Do not know, that

Aren’t the longing

Of our soul.

 

So we splatter and spill,

Blur the features,

Smuge the shades

In our attempt to

Create a mirror.

 

I remember when

I first picked up my

Brush and thought

Of what to make.

 

The flowers outside

Frolicked through my mind

But yet as I glanced at

My companions I saw

That some had already

Begun tormented figures,

Man in sorrow,

While others drew man

Smiling with content.

 

But the idea of using

my canvas for anything

but a sight which could

bring tears to my eyes

made my heart give

caused my heart to sing

a song of dark lament.

 

And so I painted the

Flowers, and it was

Indeed the prettiest

Picture I had ever known

And to this day it has

Not changed.

Reviews

[Fabian G. Franklin]

I really like this. Do you realize you write a great deal about dreams? I've read quite a few pieces by you and well over half at least mention dreams...I think you might be dream obsessed. lol But it's not a bad thing...everyone should dream and you write about them with a delicate yet powerful passion from your pen.