The Painter

The painter who paints with invisible paint
Sits with his canvas white
He dips each bristle into colors unseen
And grips his brush so tight
He makes each stroke so carefully
He always takes such care
It is his colors, his beautiful work
Which he wants to share
His brush works magic on his canvas blank
And he looks at his art with a sigh
It's beautiful, beyond wonderful
But the unseeing world passes by

The painter who paints with invisible paint
Wants everyone else to see
His labors, his love, his beautiful art
But the world lets his white canvas be
If just one other could take note
Of the beauty that lay there
The colors, the shapes, every single brush stroke
Laid on the canvas with care
But the world cannot see invisible paint
Of such things in cannot know
So the world cannot fathom anything more
Than a white canvas so and so

At the end of the day he packs up his things
And looks at his canvas bare
And sees all the things the world cannot see
Laid on the blank slab there
Tomorrow he'll take out his painting supplies
And again he'll start
For the painter who paints with invisible paint
Alone can see his art