Early morning when the sun just greets the sky
My art class watches it rise
Together, it is an activity
It gives such shadow to our newest center piece
When I look around I wonder
What makes good art?

My peers are far ahead
I can only hope
Dream
Pray
That by the end of my long journey
Will I reach the shore?
Will the jostling of the turbulent ocean cease?
I am separated, feeling cut off
While their talent flows like blood
Have I been pompous?
What makes good art?

Is it the color?
There was a time where I only drew
In shades of gray
No colors yet
Still in artistic infancy
But didn’t I grow?
I thought I perfected my only ability
My art class rows faster
They are all in the same boat
Rowing in perfect unison
There must be something I don’t get
What makes good art?

Is it the mind?
Is an artist’s brain tie dyed like a summer camp tee shirt?
But mine feels so bland
In black and white
Filled with blue words.
Paint a picture with your brain?
I sit at a blank canvas.
But a blank canvas is full of possibilities
What makes good art?

Is the only thing that ties us together,
My art class and I,
The sunrise?
I still can’t grasp it
Though I desperately try