On my untouched white canvas, I hide

On my untouched white canvas, I hide, Thoughts flowing like a deep river inside, A universe of melancholy quietly enveloping me, Like the sea singing its unknown mystery. Shades of red like a heavy sunset, Over the horizon, in the threads of my soul set, Embroidered with birds returning to the nest, In the evening's shadow, under the beloved sky's crest. In my palette, the sunflower's yellow shines bright, Warm rays gently emerge, narrating their light, The blue of the sea lightly stains my fingers, The sky of passion unfolds with tingling shivers. Luxurious green lays in fine strokes, tender, Like a mother nurturing her eternal child, slender, Shadows of people and trees dance afar, Yet my white canvas remains pristine, a silent star. Contours sketched on the edges like a string, Intertwined with flowers and bees taking wing, My head rests in art's fantastic lap, Where hopes and dreams take elastic shape. Moonlight enters through the window's view, Ink transforms into a hidden rainbow hue, I draw wings, and the pages curve, Flying like my whimsical dreams, like a nerve. In this endless stream of consciousness, I remain a painter of thoughts, a restless spirit, My white canvas, my silent witness, Of an inner world waiting to be heard in its fitness.