Poetry

Her secret

The painter stood staring at her canvas

Right infront of her

All of the painting palettes she needed stood looking at her, But she couldn’t paint

Was it the inspiration that was missing

I can’t really tell

But one thing for sure was missing

Everyone is inspired by something or someone

But it was different for her

And that difference was missing

Every stroke depended on her joy or sadness

The more intense the emotion

The better the painting was

But how will she paint now

When she can’t figure out what is happening

There are no tears in her eyes but

No smile or laughter either

It’s as if someone cut off her invisible hands

But what will she do?

How will she tell her audience

That she can’t put up more paintings for them to see

How will she?

So she sat on that chair

Facing her canvas

Staring at her palettes

And left her mind to wonder into nothingness

Hoping she’ll find an answer

Or a painting would come from her

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