Green walks on black and white,
a sprout emerges from newspaper.
On the lonesome canvas
dried with the smell of
rotting bark,
a branch strokes the
sprout’s sides,
green veins shake,
roots tense marking their place.

From the canvas,
none can see any but ebony
streaked with a muted white,
The speck of green
barely visible,
protected from the prying eyes
of the paintbrush.

The palette wears only navy and charcoal,
contrasting the oak wood,
longing for warmth.

On the easel edges,
A million candle wicks point skyward,
kissing the dark horizon.
Light and warmth
scrape the surface of the art
four letters
ink themselves into scrabble letters.

A million sprouts
emerge from the gallery,
one for each of the million


via Daily Prompt: Hopeful


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