The Canvas
The Canvas
Born a blank canvas into a world of untrained artists
I could not stay blank for long
My creator held me tight
But her hands could not stop the winds of curiousity from sweeping me away
A concerned breath separated us
A stretching fingertip's struggle
Until I found myself among the clouds where Vapours concealed the path ahead
Vapours that didn't last forever
Overcome by winds of curiousity carrying me fatefully from one place to the next
And as the obscurities dissipated around me, a world of clear skies opened ahead
So infinite, so beautiful, I didn't know what to do with them but stare in wonder
But as I looked below, I saw a world of shadow
The artists were conspiring with eyes fixed upon me
For they knew the winds of curiousity only lasted for so long
Soon the rains of responsibility would pour, soaking me to my innermost fibres
Making me too heavy to glide effortlessly among the winds any longer
And they were right.
When I fell to the ground, a frenzy broke out among the artists
They threw colours upon me I never wanted on myself
Making dirty all that was clean, leaving no spot unblemished
Every stroke made not in the name of art nor beauty
But in the name of all that should remain nameless
With their paint all over me, my identity was no longer mine but theirs
And yet it mattered not to them
They just hung me carelessly where others had been nailed before
But where I hung, across from me was a darkened window
And in its reflection, though it was hard to look at what my canvas had become,
I saw my own signature faintly written in my bottom corner
And in that moment realized
The whole time I'd been looking at myself as a canvas, I was actually my own artist.
- A. J. Darkholme