The Canvas

He sits,
With a blank canvas staring at him.
He doesn't look at the canvas.
He's looking past the white void
Something else catches the interest of this woeful walker.
What he sees behind the void of white complicates his mind.
He becomes frantic.
He takes a brush, dips it in color, and paints over the entire canvas,
The void has transgressed to black.
He continues to look past the void.
Behind the void continues to puzzle him.
He's loosing his concentration.
He picks up more paint.
He can't step away.
He could spend an eternity hear.
In this spot.
He plans to.
He won't stop painting.
He looks up to see what behind the void has to offer now.
Every time he looks he becomes more critical.
What he sees changes him.
He picks up more paint and continues.
Each stroke as important as the last like the lines of a poem.
None more important than the other.
Just like you can't look at a couple lines of poem to see it's true meaning,
Neither can you to that of a painting.
He puts down his brush.
He looks a the world behind him.
It saddens him.
His painting shows his emotion just the same.
He looks at the painting of himself,
At the foreground of the world behind the canvas.