The blot

The blot

 

 

The ugly little thing on the canvas well kept

The black spot ailing the soothing moon.

Staring back at me as I examine in contempt

I challenge ‘will get rid of you soon’.

 

 How the hell did it get on to my canvas?

When the blood rushed at a furious pace

Trembling hands groping in unknown space

Where soul lost in the body race.

 

With determination I set out to erase

The ugly blot without a trace

With duster, rubber, water, scrubber, even poisonous mace

Frenzied work with what my hands could place.

 

Triumphant, Job well done I thought

Drained of energy.. sleep I sought

Woke I did, and to my utter distraught

The blot is back… all I did was a pathetic naught.

 

 RS

23^rd Oct 2008