The Painting and The Shoelace
The twirl
of brush,
The swirl of a lace,
Furrows of concentration,
Dug deep on their face.
An artist
at work,
On his greatest creation.
A toddler tying his shoelace,
With utmost frustration.
The battle
between
The virtuoso's skill,
Pitted against
The neophytes will.
Colours burning
alive,
In the outline's shackle.
The lace neatly bound,
In an orderly tangle.
To be hung
on a wall,
The painting sold.
Earning the artist some money
And a dent in his soul.
No witness
for the child,
His achievement unknown;
But strutting proudly,
A notch he had grown.
An acknowledged
greatness;
Happiness denied.
From a victory unnoticed,
Pleasure derived.