An artist's canvas |
The artist stares at a blank canvas His mind blank, open The brush lay anxious on the easel Waiting for direction The artist's eyes droop and close His thoughts racing wild His body, limp, falls to the floor At once cloaked in sleep The anxious brush sees its chance Its bristles lift to check Nothing moving, all clear Now, time to dance The bristles leap up and around The handle dragged behind A pirouette and an arabesque The brush ready to go In the sleeping artist's head A dream begins to play Images of summers gone Of many times of past Inspiration flowed freely out The artist willed it on A muse set, now for paint Onward with the dance Slowly, the brush swirls around Awakening the tubes of paint Tapping each cap once or twice Knocking off the sleep Next the remaining brushes Their turn to rise had come The brush gave each a tickle And laughing, up they came Now with everyone awake The dance could really start Pop a switch, turn a knob Then jump, jive and wail First the paint starts to mix One tube smears on its oil Another tube adds its color And a brilliant gold emerges A few brushes jump forward Gather paint in their bristles They dance toward the canvas Flying through the air They poured on the gold Not one square inch missed Lines and smudges start to appear Adding character in paint Formations began to be seen By the paints and brushes alike The artist's dream comes alive Portraying itself on canvas An ocean next to a mountain Or maybe a kite in the sky Some beauty unseen, untold Grew upon the joyous paint More colors began to be mixed Tubes of blue, green, and brown Dancing together over the table The feel kept by the music The brushes danced wildly Far into the night and morning Painting browns, blues, whites, greens A painting unlike any other The painting had changed drastically From a simple form or image To a spiral of color, light and dark That danced right off the canvas As dawn approached the artist stirred The brushes froze their dance In one quick movement, a final show The room was quiet again One brush remained to finish Those final strokes needed And just as the artist opened his eyes The brush dropped, lifeless The painting was just a swirl of color Some portions blend some don't An abstract picture of life itself A dream, feelings come real Before him now was an enchanting painting Finished, complete, absolute The painting from his midnight dream The masterpiece of his life |