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The Artist in Me
February 3, 2016
I cannot paint on canvas.
I can only write in stanzas.
My drawing is powerless.
My pictures can only be read in books.
My color is only vocabulary,
The pictures in my mind just letters on a page.
I can't show you - I can only say -
Bur there is so much I can still convey.
So I'll write you a thousand rainbows,
And tell you about a million days.
I'll never tell the same story,
Or use the same ways.
And I'll be crafting my own kind of art,
Sculpting page by page.
And maybe, someday, I'll make a masterpiece,
With words as my caly
© Hope A., Merrillville, IN
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