Of Paint n’ Canvas

I came to you,

  As an apprentice;

Seeking n’ yearning,

  For a master painter.

I imagined one day,

  Painting on my own.

I imagined bright colors,

  Widely streaking across,

My expansive landscapes,

 Livening my portraits,

Filling my still lifes,

  With hints of moving life.

But you showed me,

  Heaps of canvases.

They were dull n’ drab browns.

  Yet, you held them with pride.

“Upon these paintings rest!”

  You heartfully exclaimed.

Your smile broadened wide,

  As you lectured me,

About their qualities,

  About their textures,

About their uses,

  About their sizes.

At first my ears inclined,

  Cause it was about art.

You rightly proclaimed,

  “This is vital to art!”

N’ of course I agreed,

  How else could it be?

Then I started moving on,

  You seemed puzzled.

Your gaze betrayed,

  Deep frustrations.

But why...?

  Hadn't you caught on?

I seek a painter,

  Not a canvas maker!

Hidden knits of fabric,

  Doesn't inspire me,

As do the streaks n’ streams,

  Of brightly colored paints.

------O------