A Canvas of Words

My Painting

If I was a painter

I would dip my brush

First into a thick tarry black

I would streak bold inky lines

Haphazardly across my canvas

Thick and strong

From one end to the other

Side to side

Top to bottom;

I would mix in

Some deep grey tones

Not soft and light

But ominous and foreboding

Swirled in amongst the ebony stripes

Little tornados

Messy and wild.

Next I'd dip my brush

(without washing it first)

Into a muddy brown

And splatter it boldly

Across the canvas.

A glorious ugly mess

With no order or pattern

Something people would

Turn their noses up at

With distaste

Then turn their backs to

Muttering words like

'Vulgar’, ‘tasteless’

and ‘unsightly’.

Last of all

I would cost my brush

Once more in black

Stab it into the heart of my painting

And make circles;

Small at first

But growing steadily wider

Mixing the browns and greys

Into one big tornado

A vortex,

Until soon

The entire thing is black

Just like my insides.