He stood in front of the vast canvas
As large as him, No larger than him
Every color crisscrossed meaningfully
Stopping and merging with others at will

He sat down on the lonely viewing bench
Pinning his eyes on the colorful maze
He longed to get inside the artists mind
To see the creativity beyond the colors

The colors slowly melted away
And strokes of a pencil peered out
Then they too disappeared inside the canvas
Leaving just the whiteness to witness

He looked deep into the blankness
Burned by life’s scorching maladies
He saw the artist, his brush and the colors
Unhurriedly, Stroke by stroke they moved

He sat like that for a very long time
Till the artist was done and colors resurfaced
He knew he had walked through the painting’s life
The whispers of the painting that no one could hear

Submitted to Poetry Potluck Week 44 Theme