Touches Of A Master

We are all merely brushstrokes, a pigment on a canvas touched by the hand of a Master our colours bleed out to explore the subtler textures of this unknown genius as abstract art goes, this is the birthplace the final word, the all-encompassing closure to see each morn the sunrise and sunset each one, a masterpiece without flaws it is only we who have imperfections that's airbrushed-over-in compositions new. It is only we who, in our ever-changing oils develop a mindset of absolute indifference ranging from intolerance, hatred, and love when it is complete and framed, the seer will proclaim, speak like a worldly prophet here is a landscape of unequalled beauty here is a place of peace tranquillity framed-without borders or wars here is a portrait of a man without fears who's never-been-known to make errors or slips?