A Brush
She rested upon the edge of her desk, lifeless for there was no paint in her hair
The world arose and it too did set in light to her view
Lonely she wept, as the paint teased her emotions, and tears did flow
Greens and yes many blues
Lost, no direction the canvas yelled in agony, for fear of emptiness
Her only desire to be caressed by the hair of the brush
Beauty would be the medium, the track to unite the brush that just sat and the weeping canvas
Blank, no message emotionless for color was no where to meet the eye
Tears made the oil-based paint thin to water-color and yet not a single stroke to joy
The brush saw the crying canvas, it rose to her foot and gently dried the canvas tears of fear
Her color did stay
A heart it formed, love was to display
Alas a love that would for ever stay
Like a tatto, for a lifetime there
Her hair brushed and brushed
The canvas smiled with joy it revealed
A huge heart and they called it love
Ink grew and time stood still
For the power is countless to a strong will
The brush paused, it dried
Dead in color her message lives on til this day
In many hearts a canvas weeps, awaiting the beauty of art
Comeforth and reveal its love
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