One can realize many things from all the worldly views
People are like canvases, white and blank and new
Owners of this art, realize there's much to do.
A black streak here, a blue one there; they slowly fill the page
But other often see the space as theirs, due to artist's age.
Some spots from others flick onto the white, adding green, yellow, pink.
But before the artist finds issue with this, they may stop to think
"What if I wear these colors, what if I cover myself?"
Then slowly with time, over the days, they lose footing on their shelf.
Their place is buried behind the layers, behind black and white and gray
The artist fades, loses them self, under some unknown clay.
The personal colors, bright and clear, hide under this shade;
The artist sighs, soft and clear, from underneath the page.
In cover of home, or friends they know, they sometimes take off the mask
In colors bright with space their own, they scrap the grey and bask.
Bright stripes of crimson, peaks of silver, and inspiring pictures of gold
They look at the grey clay, think of tomorrow, and pick it up in hold.
Donning the clay, covering the colors, and smearing themselves in dark
A secrete smile starts cracking the clay, letting out their mark.
Others that tried to cover the color look on in shock
Gold and bright and colorful light starts seeping through the rock.
Over time, over years, those that tried to hide
See your glow, all the tints, and start to come outside.
They peel off pages, wash off ink, and chink through lumps of mud
All the artist's friends and family come through in one big flood
Don't let people cover your colors, don't let them mask your shine
When you see the grey creep in, turn around and decline.
"I am my own canvas, I have my own paint."
"I have a design in my mind that nobody can taint."
"I will not be that hidden artist, that hides behind their paint."