If I was a painter, words could not describe what people would see in my work.
They'd be speechless, confused, too stricken with emotion because they have different mindsets than mine.
If my life were a canvas, it would my greatest masterpiece.
Lines that have birth to this painting would provide no blemish to the eyes.
Surrounding sounds would set the desirable and flawless setting for my mind and heart to be at peace.
Colors the human mind cannot comprehend would fill all of the fabric's edges to show the image.
The brushes would be worn from daily use and sit in water touched with grays, greens, blues, and browns from the past.
My stool and table where I worked would be silent and empty, devoid of all signs of life, except for my artwork.
My palette would contain only traces of the once bright and bold shades that now lay permanent on the cloth.
If my life were a canvas, it would be my greatest masterpiece.
The final requiem.
Magnum Opus.
Perfection in its truest form.
But, I am only human. And such items, like this painting, cannot be achieved.
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Pallete
Poesíapoems (possibly stories) relating to art, which can range from painting to pottery to drawing and much more purpose is to evoke emotion i hope you enjoy reading it! feel free to comment suggestions, tips, or stories you want to hear about PLEASE NOT...
