Why does it sit so still,
Staring into the canvas
Staring blankly
Seeming meaningless
Motionless
Thoughtless and careless it sits
Taunting you,
Begging you for attention.
It screams for a meaning,
A meaning you can’t give.
Or you could tell it what it is
Tell it it’s useless
Tell it the story of itself
Maybe it would believe you
But it wouldn't change the outcome.
Like the stance of one who cannot find
Themselves or anyone
Lost in a vast sea of worries
Making rash decisions
That aren’t decisions at all.
Because in the end it doesn’t change
The thoughts, the worries
Nothing changes until it acts
And this,
This is not acting.
This is still,
But the more you stare
Back at it staring at you
You feel it
It becomes less meaningless
Than you had previously thought.
Maybe that’s what makes it art
Something so simple
You think nothing of it,
Until you actually think.