The Painting

Many years ago, on canvas I was drawn. He kept me black and white, until I was born. He told my parents: ‘Handle this painting with care.’ Confused they replied: ‘But this painting is bare?’ He smiled, gave them the painting and went away. My parents painted a splash of knowledge on me every day. They stroked love and insight on me, until complete - Finally, I was ready and respectable for the world to meet. Hung up on a gallery wall, the painting was always under observation, After time, the criticism of the world had ruined this creation. No longer vibrant, my true colours started to fade. No longer perfect, I am now what the world has made. From a distance, they say I still look exactly the same - No one sees the cracks and chips when they are to blame.