Chroma

Assessing his canvas again, a painter dries his brow His masterpiece, an unfinished choir of light Though inspiration has struck, his paints have just run out He wanders back to the day he discovered a reason to rhyme He happened upon a boutique, covered in July Run by a girl, a traveler who dances on the wind "What are you seeking, my friend?", she asked with knowing eyes He said, "I need to find color so I have a place to begin" She said, "I'm happy to give you what color I have for your endeavor What's mine is mine to give, at least for today Maybe I'll have what you need, but surely it won't last forever Just as summer always gives way to autumn rain" He recalls that summertime day, almost a year has passed He shoulders his bag, departing his refuge from the sun When he arrives at her shop, he finds himself downcast At a shop rendered bare, a void where the sign had once been hung "How will I finish it now?" he mutters under his breath "I'll never see the way it was always meant to be" She said, "Were the colors I trusted to you not to your content?" "The paints were wonderful but they were everything to me" "I'm sorry I have nothing for you, but don't you remember What's mine is mine to give, not yours to take The painting you're making might not be quite the one you intended Know that using the colors the world has to offer to you is not a mistake" Assessing his canvas again, the painter heaves a sigh He fails to see how it could be part of something more The girl who danced on the wind unwilling to say why She left him there, alone, to what fall would have in store But the girl didn't owe him a thing, what's hers to give was not his to take, he could Obsess over what could've been, drown in the showers the world sends his way, or he could Let go of all that he'd built up inside of his head, the canvas of life is one that is Painted with every elation and every mistake, the sweetest delight and the sourest pain Why can I not learn my lesson? Is my soul out of order? My heart just wants to be buried under the weight Though I know if I look, I can find a million ways forward I just stare at a half-painted canvas and drift away