So bare and empty,
You can hear the sound of its forgotten existence
A burst of explosive color
Paint messily strewn about
It dances about the background
Flashes of warm and blissfulness
Bleeding downward in pain and regret
You can hear the harmony and dissonance in its movement and shapes.
Once a stroke is laid upon, it can not be erased
Can be pilled on by decision and decision of overwhelming color
Chipped away at,
To try to expose pictures of the past
But can not be repeated
This painting will never be created again
Can be copied by others
But will never be the same
You are the artist
A masterpiece waiting to happen
Then it is gone
It is done, done forever.
Do you want to be the painting everyone is inspired to see?
Or the knock off, hidden away in the shadows
Afraid of its true potential to be great and make a difference.
Your life is a blank canvas.