My Artist
Your calloused fingers weathered with time and experience
Hold this paintbrush softly and knowingly
Your hand moves confidently against lifes canvas
Your keen on seeing something I cannot fathom for myself
You paint as if you have already planned every brushstroke in your mind
As if you can see the future of some fantastical place that I can only dream of
Your hand moves slowly and steadily like the canvas is as delicate as my heart
I sit and watch as you create beauty with acrylic magic
in awe of your patience and knowing
As if you were able to see inside my heart
As if you were able to see something inside me that I cannot
your raw emotion pouring out through your soft-bristled brush
What stories could you speak about it
Would you tell me my fortune, dear artist
Could you tell me why my heart longs to be that brush you hold
I could sit here forever with you
And disintegrate into dust
And think what a life well lived