Painting a Life
We are born and
A hundred fine hairs are bound to a wooden shaft,
A canvas is stretched over a frame,
We grow and mature,
Paints are mixed.
Each unique thought
Is a new color added to our palettes.
Innocence is lost
As the brush is plunged into the water.
Choices are made and
Each stroke of the brush is a new experience,
A new memory.
We meet people. We touch people.
We love people. We remember.
We each find our own muse,
Our own inspiration.
Lines touch and colors blend.
We settle into our places in the world,
Wiser for the time gone by,
And a mess of paint is suddenly
A lifetime we look back on.
The paint is nearly gone.
One day, we finish creating
And the paint brush clatters to the floor.
Whether the piece is complete,
Whether we are satisfied,
It cannot be changed.
A new brush may touch a new canvas
And try to emulate the painting before,
But no two works of art are ever truly the same.
Valerie Conklin, Age 15, Grade 10, Fiorello H Laguardia High School of Music, Honorable Mention