celest eagle
An old canvas inherited,
The artist that wants to create a piece,
Without any paint,
It would be hard to make a masterpiece.
Some tape to conceal holes
Left imprinted by passing years,
Along with the breath of dust
Easily removed for a shallow greed.
The now clean canvas
Lays in-front of the artist,
But without any paint,
They declare it as an empty piece of paper,
And order it stored away to never be used.
How much power must one believe
Was bestowed upon them to
Swiftly remove the history of
The beautifully empty canvas filled with time,
In turn murdering
A now-empty mind?
fluid flume