The Painter

One stroke,

One decision.

But it is not as simple,

For that decision can change the art.

On stroke can branch of in so many different ways,

It is impossible to make it perfect.

To make the art like the image of your mind.

Dashing one way,

Then another.

It is not a sport,

But just as exhilarating.

Will it look good?

Will it at least be average?

It does not matter.

This is mine.

It is just a pastime,

It is just a waste of time.

There is no meaning,

There is no point.

But them there is not time,

Then there is a meaning,

Then it is over.

A spark,

A whizz,

A flame.

Fireworks dancing around my skull in art,

Banging, banging to be let out.

I tell them to take their time,

But they don’t pay attention.