Tristan Griffin Poetry

Written 03/16/19

My what a wall!
So wondrous!
So tall!
How might we begin to cover it all?

Let’s start here.
I’ll show you the way.
Ah, not there.
Let’s start here today.

Okay.
It’s your brush.
I’ll sit in this chair.
I’ll take a back seat, and observe how you fare.

Look at all my brush has covered and done.
Look at all the beauty I’ve won.
If only you knew what beauty could be
To surrender your brush and give it to me.

But why?
I’ve progressed quite well.
Progression toward heaven?
Progression toward hell?

To hell with you!
How dare you insult me!
A cutting question,
No insult, truth be.

Oh great!
Now look what you’ve done!
The painting is ruined.
There goes my fun.

Remember, it was you
Who took the brush from me.
You stroked the vision
You claimed to see.

Never mind
Your quarrelling nature.
You’re not the first artist
To question my stature.

Give me the brush
That I might redeem
Your beautiful picture,
Your beautiful scene.