Artistic Soul Poem by Justin Evett

He sat at the ocean chalk in hand,
blank canvas upon the bench.
Dark winds clashed the sky as rain began to fall.
Seated he remained.
Ten dollars seemed a small price for such art,
yet takers there were not.
What lyed behind him,
streaked canvas's with coliding vibrant colors.
Faces existed not.
A slightly odd sight it remained,
between these works of art
hid a vision of black and crimson red.
This man drew not of ones appearance,
but that of ones soul.
This dark canvas, concealed his own.