There was this beautiful white canvas filled to the brim with endless possibilities and a story not yet told
And life stood there, thinking if he should be so bold as to start
But he didn’t have the heart, he waited an entire year before his brush touched the white sheet, And he used white for the first layer knowing that later on it would speak
He then grabbed his pencil called experience and started drawing the lines the canvas told him it wanted
A scene so picturesque some would call it a dream
As endless as youth and so serene it was borderline on the obscene
And life looked at the lines with a smile
Now it was time to paint, a brush in each hand
One good and one bad, and life placed stroke upon stroke
Masterfully, elegantly filling in the spaces between the lines
And the paint listened to each movement as if hypnotized
Puts the brushes down and picks up pain
Starts lining the frame then traces the lines he put down
Pain scars the canvass but life knows this is part of the process
Theres no exquisite scenery without misery, its merely empty beauty
Now that pain has found its place its time for love to show its face
This is a glossy layer over everything that has been painted so far
It brightens the colours and it fill in the scars
Life puts down love and closes his eyes to take the image in
Darkness now surrounds the frame, but there’s still one thing missing
Life puts his hand on the canvas, and with his index finger he pushes on the paper until it tears, the sound of this beautiful picture being mutilated is soul wrenching, but life doesn’t care
No, he does, its just that he knows that it’s a necessity
So with his other hand he does it again and again till there are 3
3 dark holes that if you were inclined to do so would give you enough reason to call this painting ruined, destroyed, a mistake
He pushes the canvas down, it falls but it doesn’t break
And now life stands over this painting in awe of what it created
The mistakes he made while creating it and the story he embedded
