Art
Art
Plain, white, vacant;
is the canvas…
waiting for the celebration
of color!
One is nothing without the other.
The boundaries of emptiness,
the fullness, luster and texture of…
shade, tint or dye.
Alone then comforted.
A sinful nature, washed clean.
Our lives empty, un-purposed,
that odd hole we have,
when the lights…
go out.
It is part of us.
Like someone highlighted only half…
and left pieces unfinished?
The desire then to fill,
what can not be.
Strike a match and hold it
close to the wall.
Note…
Light, casts no shadow.
Darkness fears its touch,
and shakes at the edges,
of our senses.
The waiting blank, the colors in the tray…
Both valueless…
without the Master’s hand.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
