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