Thought of as a could- be good artist,
I was gifted the canvas, colors and easel,
I stood before it petrified, frozen,
unable to use the paint or the pencil.

I stood staring at it, blanked out,
My eyes not seeing anything,
My mind, back in time,
Multiple memories twirling.

When I get back here, to this room,
now in the present, all aware,
I feel that it is as it should be,
except for a few dots here and there.

Those flecks of colour on...