Brushstrokes

With each stroke of the brush,
A new world comes alive,
Colors dance and swirl,
As the canvas comes to life.

From a blank and empty page,
A story starts to form,
Each color tells a tale,
Of love, of pain, of storm.

The brush is like a wand,
A magic spell it weaves,
With every dab and stroke,
A new adventure cleaves.

With each sweep of the hand,
A feeling comes alive,
Joy, passion, anger,
All find a way to thrive.

And when the work is done,
The painting's left to speak,
Of the artist's heart and soul,
In every shade and streak.

For in the art of painting,
A piece of life we find,
And in the canvas' beauty,
We see the artist's mind.