I’ve painted a picture
High yellows and deep purple.
Erasing the blues.
Though I can’t hide from them, because inside of them,
Lies context clues.
They keep popping up on my canvas, as if it’s some news
I owe you’s, saying I can’t loose
So if the picture was written
I would read between the lines.
But I see between the paint.
Longing for a deep enough red and then
I sought and found one.
Fingers caught stuck between the brush
As if I’d know the outcome
I want to be done
Light shades that could symbolize a sun
Intrigued with the scene
But even as the hand strikes green
One notices that it’s never what it seems
So I hold my hand against my heart and try to finish
And think as surely as there was a beginning
There’s going to be an ending
Making vows to a happily ever after picture
But what happens when the blues begin to shift you creating mixture?
I would tear it up, but knowing that I would miss you, I refocus my attention and continue to stick with you
Arts and crafts on my path
Not knowing when I will be through with it
I’m not new to this, plus I don’t want to loose.
Even though there’s I owe you’s behind the painting
They are hidden
Though I knew them to be true
There was still a compromise collision
Clocks ticking and I’m becoming intimate with this masterpeice
A dreamy artist I am.
As I plan to stand to finish the outline
I’m at once disturbed by what I heard and should I say
By what I saw
Like the voice of one speaking, within a picture of something I didn’t draw
Sort of disturbed but enlightened
My senses became heightened at the sight of it’s bright gold and deep red
Trying to depict between the lines what was read or being said
But it’s not so self explanatory.
So I asked the creator of it for it’s meaning
It was revealed what was the real deal
Awakened me from my daydreaming
Silenced my paint strokes
Provoked me to see my idol worship
The Truth within the lies, His canvas compared to mines, and vice versa.
I’ve been the mastermind for too long
But he came and presented colors I’ve never seen
And the colors spoke my life is not my own
Something that’s so supreme
And I wonder, what am I going to do
I notice that this picture has less blues
With more clear I owe you’s.
Think twice, and I want to be through with what I’ve created.
Didn’t sign it or date it, finally dropping the brush.
This vision, his vision, is better.
Being able to remove my hand from my heart.
I was intrigued.
And it was free to afford it.
Freely give, I received, becoming the will of his portrait.
The artist. Submits.