A brush lands on a canvas clean,
A chance to start anew,
The sky, its changing reds and blues,
A pauper or a queen,
Depends upon your veil or view.
What colors might you choose?
Through the portrait’s tone and style,
Embrace the long and empty mile,
The gentle hours meant to amuse,
Lost in free exile.
Where you start and where you end,
Enabled by this empty slate,
Now freshened by the trusted fates,
And poisoned by a friend,
or balanced by the weights?
Out there you start anew,
Bursting out a better man,
Wise to worlds and greater plans,
Whose lessons thus accrue,
From back where you began.
