The Painting Dance

The artist stares at a blank canvas
His mind blank, open
The brush lay anxious on the easel
Waiting for direction

The artist's eyes droop and close
His thoughts racing wild
His body, limp, falls to the floor
At once cloaked in sleep

The anxious brush sees its chance
Its bristles lift to check
Nothing moving, all clear
Now, time to dance

The bristles leap up and around
The handle dragged behind
A pirouette and an arabesque
The brush ready to go

In the sleeping artist's head
A dream begins to play
Images of summers gone
Of many times of past

Inspiration flowed freely out
The artist willed it on
A muse set, now for paint
Onward with the dance

Slowly, the brush swirls around
Awakening the tubes of paint
Tapping each cap once or twice
Knocking off the sleep

Next the remaining brushes
Their turn to rise had come
The brush gave each a tickle
And laughing, up they came

Now with everyone awake
The dance could really start
Pop a switch, turn a knob
Then jump, jive and wail

First the paint starts to mix
One tube smears on its oil
Another tube adds its color
And a brilliant gold emerges

A few brushes jump forward
Gather paint in their bristles
They dance toward the canvas
Flying through the air

They poured on the gold
Not one square inch missed
Lines and smudges start to appear
Adding character in paint

Formations began to be seen
By the paints and brushes alike
The artist's dream comes alive
Portraying itself on canvas

An ocean next to a mountain
Or maybe a kite in the sky
Some beauty unseen, untold
Grew upon the joyous paint

More colors began to be mixed
Tubes of blue, green, and brown
Dancing together over the table
The feel kept by the music

The brushes danced wildly
Far into the night and morning
Painting browns, blues, whites, greens
A painting unlike any other

The painting had changed drastically
From a simple form or image
To a spiral of color, light and dark
That danced right off the canvas

As dawn approached the artist stirred
The brushes froze their dance
In one quick movement, a final show
The room was quiet again

One brush remained to finish
Those final strokes needed
And just as the artist opened his eyes
The brush dropped, lifeless

The painting was just a swirl of color
Some portions blend some don't
An abstract picture of life itself
A dream, feelings come real

Before him now was an enchanting painting
Finished, complete, absolute
The painting from his midnight dream
The masterpiece of his life