My Artist

Your calloused fingers weathered with time and experience

Hold this paintbrush softly and knowingly

Your hand moves confidently against lifes canvas 

Your keen on seeing something I cannot fathom for myself

You paint as if you have already planned every brushstroke in your mind

As if you can see the future of some fantastical place that I can only dream of

Your hand moves slowly and steadily like the canvas is as delicate as my heart

I sit and watch as you create beauty with acrylic magic 

in awe of your patience and knowing

As if you were able to see inside my heart 

As if you were able to see something inside me that I cannot

your raw emotion pouring out through your soft-bristled brush

What stories could you speak about it

Would you tell me my fortune, dear artist

Could you tell me why my heart longs to be that brush you hold

I could sit here forever with you

And disintegrate into dust 

And think what a life well lived