Tick, tock, tick, tock. The see saw tips from end to end. A swing sways gently in the breeze Summer leaves in the wind. A heart burns stubborn in the cold Restlessly tossing through the night It's itching for something, yearning, more like- Something it can't quite grasp. Something just out of reach. A canvas goes from blank white, to marked be graphite, to coloured half-heartedly, stared at, thrown across the room, ignored for days, gathering dust; Discovered one day by total accident, stared at again, only this time in amusement, painted white, left aside, coloured in a fit of pure insanity; Looked upon first with contempt, then interest, pride, A heart warms up to it, and hangs it up on a wall. Touched once, touched again, Tainted by this human touch, In love, in hurt, in pain profound, In times good and bad, Through its looking glass across the window it watches as human years pass. But through the glass, the wood, the frame, The colour bleeds onto skin. It runs in the blood of the million beholders And imprints itself on the heart. Look closely. A picture speaks a thousand words, And alas, beauty, true, is in the eye of the beholder. Yet no artist is ever satisfied, no true work of art ever complete, So this wonder-story fantasy Is crumpled up and tossed in a bin to forget, or rather, to achieve. So a paintbrush is picked up again, Pigment mixed and streaked and swashed. Leaves turn from golden, to green, to rust red-brown. Marks of daily expression, of emotion deep within, take root And with each new day the mirror presents new wrinkles, Appearing from the labour of heaving each breath, Like battle scars one should be proud to wear. Smile lines etch themselves onto human skin like cracks on old-dried oil. The masterpiece is finally complete.
By: Aksharaa <3
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