This is only to satisfy my mom she is under the impression that I'm depressed or something so sorry that this isn't as good as my other poems


1. Poem

He stands infront of a blank canvas 

A paint brush in his hand

Thoughts rushing through his head

He doesn't even notice that he is painting

All he can see are colors

And his own memories 

Paint splashes on the canvas 

And just like his canvas 

He too has become brighter

And as he comes aware

He looks at his masterpiece

He looks at his life 

He sees his memories

Painted on that canvas



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