If I Was A Better Artist

If i were a better artist,
And if i could paint better,
Than my blatant lies of impressionism,
Then i would paint a picture, that's more than a thousand words.

I would strive to include,
The never ending beauty around me,
The warm fuzzy emotions that i get,
When i am with people i love, my friends,

I would most certainly add a smidge,
Of a certain few friends faces,
Maybe into a crowd scene or somewhat,
Perhaps in the pure heavens, at the northern canvas side,

But where would this slightly ambitious spread be set?
In a large sweet meadow of flowers and spring buds?
Or a contemporary hall of glass, concrete and light?
No, i think not, a plain and average clifftop shall do,

And in the background? A forest of superlative beauty?
The sky meeting a glorious sunset over the horizon?
Or possibly and quite simply a small stone cottage,
Detached from nowhere and hanging here,

When would i paint a such thing? where?
When i have let my frosted eyes,
Meet soft Gaelic ones and let them melt,
And i shall sit on the very same clifftop,

Shall i paint myself in this abstract imagery?
No, because i feel my true self is too disturbed to be captured,
Yes but i shall be cloaked in a deep inky darkness,
I don't deserve to grace a canvas' face,

Would i leave my signature upon the finished piece?
No, nothing should be ever traced back to me,
It deserves much better than to be made by my hand,
Yes, i shall leave my mark, but in sigil only,

If i could paint. . .
Then it would be would be worth more than a thousand words. . .