With brushes that dance and colors that play,
I bring forth worlds in a creative way.
As an artist, I see with a different eye,
A realm of beauty, where imagination lies.
My canvas is vast, a blank slate so white,
Awaiting the strokes of my soul's delight.
I mix and I match, with a twirl of my hand,
As hues and shades blend, to create a new land.
With every stroke, a story unfolds,
Of emotions and thoughts, that my heart has told.
The colors I choose, a reflection of me,
A symphony of feelings, in perfect harmony.
My art is my passion, my fire and my flame,
That burns bright and true, and bears my name.
It's a language that speaks, to the heart and the soul,
A universal tongue, that makes us whole.
As I create, I lose myself in the flow,
A state of pure bliss, where time and space grow.
The world outside fades, and all that remains,
Is the art and the artist, in a sweet, sweet refrain
.
With each new piece, a part of me is born,
A fragment of my essence, that's forever sworn.
To bring joy and beauty, to all who behold,
Is the artist's gift, that never grows old.
So let my brushes dance, and my colors sing,
For in the world of art, my heart takes wing.
And as I create, I am free and I am me,
An artist, a dreamer, wild and carefree.
-
Author:
Friendship (
Offline) - Published: December 20th, 2025 06:24
- Comment from author about the poem: Every item was carefully crafted and designed by me, using wire, cotton, cotton balls, and fabric scraps as primary materials. The facial features and hands were skillfully rendered in cold porcelain, which consisted of baking soda, cornstarch, water, and glue. I designed, painted, and applied adhesives to each piece individually. These creations are what I lovingly call my Babushka babies.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 18
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange, Cheeky Missy, Soman Ragavan, Dominic Windram, RSM0812
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Comments4
Lovely! He who creates is a god. To make something out of scattered pieces reverses entropy and sets time backwards. A wonderful write my friend
Thank you, Soren
Friendship, this reads as both an artist’s credo and a love letter to process. The Babushka babies embody what the poem speaks toward…that art is built from patience, attention, and fragments of the maker carried forward into the world. Wonderful work, both the poem and the babies. I am continually wowed by you, my dear friend! 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
My dear friend, I'm deeply grateful for your heartfelt comment, which resonates profoundly with me, knowing I have a kindred spirit who understands the essence of my writing. You've touched the very core of my being as a highly sensitive person. Your words are a testament to your authenticity, and I'm thankful for your compassion, my friend.🌹
A fine write and lovely pic F.
Thank you so much, my friend
Indeed, the artist sees with different eyes. And having seen, they communicate their feelings to others. The artist is a dreamer, too. They dream of a better world.
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