The Artist's Brush

I am an aspiring artist,
painting the world I see;
reality is really just a mist;
I am, what I’m painted to be.

I don’t dab paint on a canvas;
writing is my medium choice;
but still, I am an artist;
words have expressions to voice.

Words turn meanings into colors;
a kaleidoscope of all thought;
some meanings morph into others,
from which reality was wrought.

And sound cannot be painted;
its rich tones must be heard;
and though it may be tainted;
it comes alive through a word.

Touching a canvas may be preferred
for it can affect your point of view;
but though you may not touch a word;
a word certainly can surely touch you.

And so, I paint my canvas with words;
describing the reality that I see;
sometimes the thoughts seem blurred;
for a part of my canvas is me.

Still, I long to be an artist;
aspirations; by reality, crushed;
not only am I not the smartest;
I am only the Artist’s brush.