The strokes of a paintbrush
The smell of paint
She reaches out for an idea
Floating out there...
She wants it on her canvas
But it escapes
As she watches it float away
She stares at the blank space
No one can help her
It's up to her
How she saw the world.
Her paintbrush didn't judge her
All she could do is stare at the blank page
And wait for an idea to come to her mind.
Sitting there day and night
She had no one to love
No one to care for
Staring at the canvas
Waiting for an idea
With no one to help her,
Ideas were her only friend.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoetryA small book of poetry that I write in my free time. I'm not that good at poetry, and I don't particularly like rhyming, but here it is, and I hope you enjoy it.
