It Started With A Blank Canvas
With a canvas so blank, pristine and pure,
In every fleeting thought, allure does endure.
Failed to paint love, no tales to unveil,
An empty enchantment, a lingering spell.
In Monet's embrace, a figure I mold,
Beneath cherry blossoms, a story unfolds.
Yet scorned by imagination's cruel hand,
Portrait mastery I seek, grand and unplanned.
Then the canvas whispered, a silent plea,
"Fill me with stories, set them free.
Let your emotions dance and play,
Create a masterpiece, in your own way."
A splash of blue, like the open sky,
A dash of green, where meadows lie.
Bold strokes of red, a passionate fire,
Blending hues, creating desire.
Each stroke a journey, a chapter untold,
A symphony of colors, a tale to unfold.
Mountains rise, rivers flow,
In the canvas' embrace, stories grow.
Sunsets painted in hues of gold,
Moonlit nights, mysterious and bold.
Whispers of wind in the painted trees,
The canvas alive with the artist's ease.
Whispers of art within, the painter's spirit set free,
Nature's tableau unfurls in strokes, a vibrant theme.
Trees, seagulls, ducks, mountains, lake, and mirage,
Treasures of my heart now rest in the garage.
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