Lonely by the Canvas

I brushed a stroke of orange on a clean coral canvas

and waited not too long to see its meaning fade.

The concoction of colors had promised a mild orange

but I was afraid my vision had underplayed.

I stood lonely by the canvas as my palette refused to obey.

 

I had to keep going though,

as I wanted the world to see the truth which my eyes saw.

Some lines here,

some shapes there,

with one last slender stroke, I had created something new and raw.

But with that last stroke, I saw my truth take a turn, arcane and very brief.

Summoning a little courage,

I stood lonely by the canvas as I bid adieu to my obsolete belief.

 

A young man who hailed from an era of abundance approached

and was stunned by the lack of glamour in my painting to be seen.

He ignored the underlines, the truth behind that geometry,

like someone who sees only the coastline, the horizon and nothing in between.

So again,

I stood lonely by the canvas as I chose not to be a conformist,

I stood lonely by the canvas, every day, while I called myself an artist.