color my world
an empty canvas in an otherwise
empty world
suspended above sands
washed clean by the hands of the moon
time after countless time
the artist is nowhere to be found
perhaps adrift at sea
in search of something unforeseen
paint brushes and palette
at rest on three-legged easel
what is lost will one day be found
the artist and canvas
reunited when least expected
bringing back color
to an otherwise empty world
april two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 
Great poem!
Thank you, Chris.
Perfect poem to read just before going to bed!! I will now dream about this…Sigh.
Thank you, Lola…so glad you enjoyed this one!
Reblogged this on kustomkarl67's Blog.
many thanks for reblogging Karl