I see it there,

the hours I’ve spent alone.

Small and red,

My mind begins to wander.


A doubt of shame,

is not what I feel.

You may seem scared,

By what I’ve done.


Without my hand,

My job won’t end.

Stop and marvel.

You see, the work I do.

To make my art.



  • Claudelle DeLuna

    Very Nice! Riddleish!
    Makes me think of a portrait painter brush in hand not knowing what he is going to paint and all he has on the canvas is a red dot.

  • Omnimax47

    Thank you for your feedback.

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