Poemattic: Poetry and Art for the Soul

 

 

 

 

 

It was supposed to have been a masterpiece

like a Degas or a Renoir,

carefully crafted to live a life of its own

way beyond the life of its painter.

the palette colorful,

the theme clear,

incredible perspective,

and free of creative conventions.

But life got in the way;

the brush strokes became careless,

the lines extended beyond the canvas;

and all was out of control.

Self-love diminished,

the paint brush, stiff and dry,

the idea confused.

Regrets and more regrets

relentlessly restricted

the soul’s creative path.

An unfinished painting

buried under the debris of all hope is a sad thing.

An unfinished painting

that could have been a masterpiece once

sits quietly on the easel.

People still sigh as they

walk by it.

No one will ever know

its joy and inspiration;

no one will ever know

its real purpose.

Life is sometimes like

an unfinished painting.

My advice is this:

(or it may have been someone else who said:

“Make of your life a masterpiece.”