Once An Artist

Once an artist,
I remember painting the field
With the ball's movements.
Sometimes the movement
Delivers the message.
Sometimes lack of movement
Is the message.
The opponent,
Acts as the audience,
Chasing the hologram you project
With full conviction;
Quickly realizing,
It is a vision that's gone missing.
The canvas quickly resets
Like an Etch A Sketch,
And each time requires a present vision.
Who is the audience?
Shall I carry?
Shall I conceal?
Shall I send,
Or shall I reveal?
It was a beautiful art scene on this field,
Where every artist paints
With their heart as the brush.
Nobody paints with fear
Worrying how their picture will be seen.
They just dance,
Placing their full love
Into every touch.



By: Kurtis Lunz

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