Petal's blog: "Poetry"

Empty canvas longing for smooth caress of brush, as dusty film gathers on surface. Vacant images secluded in time, as the thirst for expression grows with each perpetual day. I once dreamed of vibrant skies, books flapping their pages over subtle seas, playfully looping one another, as they race along surface. Guided to perfection with still hand, and gentle bristles. I was a magician, maker of miracles, bristled wand in hand, creating life and love in vivid tones of violets and hues. Am I nothing more than a sponge, panting and thirsting along desert sands, sere air withering my skin, almost like time dried inspiration. Ah yes, a sponge, dry and empty, exceeding the boundaries that didn’t exist, to frizzle beneath peering sun, withering to subtle tones of yesterday.