Canvas

I woke up this morning to quite a surprise,
At first I thought I'd broken my eyes.
My life's canvas is blank, completely wiped clean,
I've simply no clue what this might mean.

But for the details, I care not.
I dip my brush into my paint pot.
Paint the town red? How lacking in ambition!
I intend to paint the world, to make it as I envision.

The first thing to do is mix up the palette,
Normal colours? You can forget it.
The grass is now purple, the sky is now green,
The hexagon sun is somewhere in between.

I'm no Picasso, no Rembrandt,
But no-one can stop me, no they can't!
The canvas is mine and the paint flows free,
Every brushstroke of the cosmos chosen by me.

But wait, I'm running out of space!
There's nothing here that I can erase.
The final blank spot is reserved for you,
You make it complete, yes you do.

Yet when I look down, my pot has run dry.
Out of frustration I start to cry.
My tears clear the paint, a blank canvas once more,
And I finally realise what all this has been for.

@stablish