A Painter Of Words Poem by William E. Dickinson

My easel is a word, a phase
My pen is color blue
The brush applies a tinge, or
accents
A pointer, a blue

A palate wide ere consummate
It strangles time now space
Wide as imagination's vast
To compliment line with grace

Idea, a drop of color
It splashes where it may
Widening as it spreads
From instant to a day

And, the canvas in varied
likeness
To a person, scene, or space
Inanimate of the painters
Slash
Imagination in a race