I wonder how long my canvas is.
20,50,80 feet?
Soon I'll be able to grasp my brush
And paint a portrait worth being proud of
Enough
Now!
But how?
Intuitively of course
With every oppertunity
There's a new color added to my plethora
My palet
Although, my brush grows heavy like a malet
When I dip into certain colors
I shall not be smothered by their weight
Or appearence
But sway my tool with expertise
With every experience
A portion of the masterpiece
Some large
Some small
As I crawl towards the daunting tower
In my infantial state
I await my rainbow
Standing in the glow of my canvas.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem