Life is humorous, but the joke is on mankind.

An empty canvas awaits my touch,
begging to be filled,
it stares out my studio window,
a bleak, gray street outside,
watching life pass by,
people living at an accelerated pace,
never ceasing, never stopping,
flowers die without one word of love,
woe becomes the artwork,
drawing forth black skies amid dead buildings,
an emptiness is there.

My mind wrings itself,
wondering what will fulfill the void,
shake its soul,
days become months in my tormented view,
sorrow for the incomplete creature eating me away,
until you walked into my life and completed the picture -
 A single, bright flower amidst all the dark . . .

© Poetry.com