With brush in hand, I dance on the unknown,
A canvas vast, a mystery to be sown.
I swirl and splash, a symphony of hue,
But what I make, I haven’t got a clue.
Is it a bird, a flower, a whispered dream?
Or just a jumble, nonsensical it seems?
I search within, for answers yet unseen,
But find no form, just colors bold and keen.
The riddle deepens, in each stroke I lay,
A cryptic message, for another’s day.
They peer and ponder, interpretations fly,
Meanings they weave, beneath a painted sky.
Some see a storm, some see a sunrise fair,
Some see their hearts, laid bare and bare.
And though I stand, beside my own creation,
Their words unfold, a different revelation.
Perhaps it’s nature, the grandest artist here,
Who paints the clouds, with wind and atmosphere.
She too creates, with unknowing hand,
Yet beauty blooms, across the promised land.
So maybe I, just search for what’s within,
A reflection’s gleam, where purpose might begin.
To chase the whispers, of who I might be,
And find my truth, on the canvas, wild and free.
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