Art
#WritcoPoemChallenge
Bold strokes of a confident hand
The painting is a masterpiece
Executed just as planned
It brought the painter to his knees
He strokes the painting with a gentle hand
Emotions surreal because he can understand
The tears so fresh because they are his own
He reaped the rewards of what he had sown
The paint, the ink, black as his past
Cracks from when he broke out of his cast
The brush, soft, like the lies he was told
A crevice in the canvas for each time he was bold
In his small corner, he painted away
Their eyes reflecting night and day
He heard the silent swish of paper against paint
The smoothness of how it flows, it's resistance so faint
The brush in water, how the paint flew
Spreading in swirls as the paint grew
The scraping of bristles against the canvas dry
How everytime the paint dried the canvas would sigh
He painted his sorrow, his doubt, his grief
He painted his joy, surprise, no matter how brief
He painted his emotions and could see them in their eyes
The intentions of his characters behind their sullen eyes
He gave them their personalities, the desire in strife
And in one final stroke, he'd breathe them to life
How he had begun, from the very start
All come together in what we call art
Bold strokes of a confident hand
The painting is a masterpiece
Executed just as planned
It brought the painter to his knees
He strokes the painting with a gentle hand
Emotions surreal because he can understand
The tears so fresh because they are his own
He reaped the rewards of what he had sown
The paint, the ink, black as his past
Cracks from when he broke out of his cast
The brush, soft, like the lies he was told
A crevice in the canvas for each time he was bold
In his small corner, he painted away
Their eyes reflecting night and day
He heard the silent swish of paper against paint
The smoothness of how it flows, it's resistance so faint
The brush in water, how the paint flew
Spreading in swirls as the paint grew
The scraping of bristles against the canvas dry
How everytime the paint dried the canvas would sigh
He painted his sorrow, his doubt, his grief
He painted his joy, surprise, no matter how brief
He painted his emotions and could see them in their eyes
The intentions of his characters behind their sullen eyes
He gave them their personalities, the desire in strife
And in one final stroke, he'd breathe them to life
How he had begun, from the very start
All come together in what we call art