I have this paintbrush.
If you put it close to your ears,
It would make no noise.
If you put it in your mouth,
It would taste like plastic.
If you put it close to your nose,
It would smell like old paint.
If you rubbed it against your fingers,

It would only feel like a stick with soft hair.
But, if you could see
If you could just see what it could do,
What it could create,
What a painting it could paint.
It could create everything, and anything.
A vision for a somebody,
A map for the lost,
A dream for a child,
A hope for the dying,
A partner for the soul,
An answer for the thinkers,
A laughter for the sad,
A goal for the dreamers.
But what a paintbrush is, is a tool.
It would mean nothing
Without the painter.
It would just be an empty noise,
A stick with hair,
A piece of plastic,
Or scents of old paint.
I have this paintbrush.
It would be nothing.

Without me.