Title: Abstract
by Aimee from North Yorkshire | in writing, poetry
The blank white penetrates my mind.
It devours me in a sense I cannot convey.
The emptiness empowers me, frees me,
The lonely paradise before me lays,
Waiting.
Halting.
Pleading for a single brushstroke to seep into the meaningless abyss,
Which may one day be a masterpiece.
The colours engross me in their firey grip,
The canvas my playground,
The paints, my swings,
The perpetual swirling of a roundabout in imagination,
But the fear it shall- and will stop.
Once the blank white is florid, and colourful, and rich,
And the trees are now full and green,
On a wall you'll see it, stop and stare,
What is it? I ask you only to dream.
Painting
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