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Painting



All in one color.
Swipes of the hand,
Flicks of the wrist.
But it doesn’t matter.

Everything is the same color.
Overlapping,
Blending in,
Until it’s nothing.
Just a blotch of color.

It began as a blank canvas,
It grew into something beautiful.
But it kept going,
Adding layer,
After layer,
After layer.

And then it had so many layers,
That were all the same color,
And it looked like nothing.

The hard work was invisible.
The beauty was covered.

It was discarded
As a mistake.

But the layers,
They were protection.

So that the beautiful piece,
The one buried underneath,
Couldn’t be damaged.

Only the artist could see
What was underneath.

Everybody else
Just walked away.






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