The Blank Canvas

UNSUPPORTED CODE It is a space where time stands still. The very air stops moving around me, as the world falls away, And the images fill, the blank space. The colours bleed from sticks, tubes and pencils. The ideas in my head, begin to play, And the forms fill, the shape of a face. Light washes over the canvas, and spills. The lines race across the page, erased then stay, The strokes fill the moulded place. In the space where time stands still. My fingers trace a copy of me. I hesitate and then sign away, And fill the world with a part of me, dashed across the blank canvas. UNSUPPORTED CODE