The Artiste Poem by Kasia Fedyk

The blank canvas stood inviting in the corner of his imagination patiently waiting for his hand to do something,
he just stood there staring,
emptiness, a grand illusion so known to his heart, overwhelmed him.
Sun peeking through the tiny space of the heavy curtain hanging heavy over the window only reaching the palette,
colors dancing in the oils,
combined for his liking,
magnificent vibration,
he was the true master,
his brilliance laid out against the walls,
his work like a ballet,
a ballades of masterpieces each reflecting the magic of his soul,
his hands the tools, controlling every dropp of paint,
rainbows of his creation.
In the moments of emptiness the artist stood still,
for the touch of the Divine brush to reach his soul first.
The Artiste....