Brush Strokes

Brush Strokes … The canvas of fate, Wind strokes of the brush create a straight. The vibrant hues blend seamlessly strait, Each stroke represents a chapter of my state. An empty canvas representing my soul. Full of dark void and hole. Hues of the future dole, Sudden colors I've never seen before began to appear on the palete as a whole. Stopped at my tracks, Gazing at the vibrant palette of plaques. With every gentle stroke of the brush attacks, It revealed an art that I never knew I had within me as it attracts. The colors danced and intertwined. The once-empty canvas of my life became refined. Each stroke of the hue is a design. Combined with my void strokes, the vibrant strokes unwind. The small dot of the black canvas, Full of opportunities at that blackness. You held that brush of my life, anxious. You made my life full of vibrant hues at that empty canvas. Now, it's nothing but a canvas full of beauty. My solace and my duty. You transformed the void canvas of my life coolly. It's now more than just a void; it's fruity. I found the right color for my life. With every swift, gentle stroke applied, Another wave of happiness overwhelms the canvas arrive. Oh, my solace of hues in delight. Please hold the brush and add more colors to my life. You are the vibrant hues of the once-empty canvas. You held the brush and colored my empty life with delight. Thank you for holding that brush.