4 July 2012
Life seems like it has gone away,
It fades out of reach, in a shade of grey,
My mind is thick with dripping black paint,
Holding me down, an oily restraint,
Darkness clouds in, I can't stop it,
All that I am is gone, sunken down in a pit,
It happened gradually, I didn't notice,
Something inside just drank all my focus,
Until that day a fresh-eyed artist came,
He looked me up and down, asked my name,
"What a sorrow filled state you're in,"
Shaking his head, took out his paints with a grin,
At first his strokes were rough and bold,
Fighting the grey and black, pushing out the cold,
Soon my canvas was a clear pure white,
Suddenly filling my mind with light,
He stood back for a moment, to admire,
For a moment I thought he would retire,
But no, this was just the beginning of art,
As his brushes reached out to my sunken heart,
Splashes of pink and crimson red,
Filled me up from toes to my head,
He tickled my canvas with blue and green,
Making me bright so I could be seen,
Layers and layers of paint went on,
Building me back to a beautiful swan,
He looked back and admired his work,
I felt full with new growth, so gave him a shy smirk,
As he handed over the brushes and paint cans,
He said, "It's time to make your own plans."
My artist drifted off into the purple sky,
In search of others who needed his eye.
Artist • Opuss № I