Poet’s pen words as painters paint hues,
each exploring infinite shades of the blues.
Whether a canvas large or ragged scrap small,
quills and brushes cover them all.
Syllables shade the sentence with shadow,
of portraits deep and seascapes shallow.
While watercolors will always wash away,
ink and oils shimmer for another day.
Surreal or real really anything goes,
whether rhyming verse, freeform or prose.
Maybe some Shakespeare or dogs playing cards,
velvet backs drape to both blind and bards.
Ropes of velvet secure master pieces.
A sandwich of glass will smooth out the creases.
Though nothing’s smooth in a perfect sense,
waves perpetually bristle from light to dense.
Mirrors project light already seen.
Reflection occurs on the matted screen.
Largeness lingers, all mediums fade,
little’s lost when something is made.
What’s unmade forever unknown,
forever unseen and can never be grown.
Whatever’s not lost will be our gains.
And when tears dry an image remains.