The man who was an artist

The man who was an artist ~

A great artist was given a paint brush from his wife for a present.
He held the brush in his hands and because she had given it to him felt great magic in it,
inspiration filled him and drowned out all other thoughts.
She said “You have never painted me”
He looked at her and said “I will then if you wish”
“I do wish it”

How shall I paint her? to much to encompass on one canvas
How shall I pose her? beautiful from every angle
How shall I decide her colors? all colors flatter her
How shall I begin? it is to much

The artist retired to his studio to begin what he thought his greatest project of all.
He placed his canvas upon his easel.
His paints ready, the brush in his hand full of power.

I must paint my wife to make her happy
I must make sure she is beautiful in her own eyes
I must be sure this is my greatest work
I must decide how to start

The hours ticked by
The sun soon slipped away making room for the moon and stars
The hunger that grew inside soon became forgotten
The sleep so needed was ignored

Eventually the brush was laid down to rest.
The studio abandoned without its great work being done.

The canvas called out
The artist ignored it
The wife was disappointed
The artist ignored it
The pride of man cried out as it drowned in failure
The artist ignored it
The urge to scream raged inside
The artist ignored it
The voice inside said “but you are a great artist”
The man denied it.

 

– The poetic injustice of poetic justice

 Written in 2008
~ while sitting in front of a blank canvas.

Posted September 6, 2011 by Inferno in Bardic Reflection

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