The Unseen Artist
unbound
Faded brushstrokes on forgotten canvases,
A story of color trapped in the dark.
Melodies screams in my restless hand,
But fear holds the notes hostage, a silent fire.
Is my voice too quiet, a whisper in the storm?
Will it resonate, will it pierce the veil?
Doubt lingers like dust motes, a stifling form,
Choking the canvas, making my spirit pale.
Lines blur, colors retreat, a hesitant hand,
Afraid to look at the vibrant display.
But deep within, a yearning takes its stand,
A fire to create, to chase the doubts away.
Is it the brush, the canvas, or the unseen hand?
Perhaps it’s the courage to finally start.
For the artist resides in the soul, unplanned,
Waiting to break free, a work of living art.
Tonight’s peace echoes in this poem, doesn’t it? Just like the stillness inspires the writer, this piece can inspire you to find your own quiet beauty.
Thankyou for Reading.
