#WritcoPoemChallenge
Bold strokes of a confident hand,
The painting is a masterpiece,
Executed as planned...

Brush became mind as the paint daubed
He knew He was going to reach
The pupils that He taught...

In His mind's eye He portrayed skill,
Afterall, He was The Master,
They would learn from His will...

His Pupils would come, He knew that,
He was The Master before all.
They would have to adapt...

He had perhaps taught them too fast,
That very first time He had tried,
To show His skill, to last...

He thought of His wrath, anger felt,
When they had refused to lie still,
The punishment He dealt...

The chains had not been all that tight,
They struggled under the water,
Skin blue, rising bubbles white...

They never saw the marred work,
Paint stripper was sprayed, canvas ripped.
Art called again. He could not shirk...

He shook His head, image dismissed.
These two were new, sedated, gagged.
Brush, Paint and Canvas He kissed...

This would be different, that He knew,
He didn't need white, nor the blue.
He had seen something true...

In that last work that He had tried,
Failure that time had inspired new,
Master Art not denied...

He painted again, watching them tied.
The beauty of bodies entwined.
His Muses never lied.

But this time too still on the bed,
Frustration grew, again, so fast.
Did He have enough red?


(P.S. I am new to this app. and have never experimented with the "Horror" genre - I'm not sure that I like my mind going there - it's weird! I think I've freaked myself out 😱!)