Blank canvas…

I often think the artist
Needs a vast blank canvas
I often feel the poet songs
Arise out of pure emotion
Loneliness, emptiness…
A void to be filled, transgressed.

But, what does it all say…?
On a personal, level
Anyway, about ink or oil…
Are their horizons, just?

Just as barren …as desert soil?
Hell no! Beauty is translucent.
“To a point…
But what could be more real”?