find my soul underneath all the soil
break through the concrete of my coffin
wage a war against my depleted self
your fingers, a brush dipped in paint
coating over the blemishes inside
you haven’t put them there
but you managed to ease the spoils
an attentive ear to my song of woes
you have the perfect recipe
a mixture of kind gaze and divine words
the leisure of your mystic touch
don’t let go
hold on tight
i’m somewhere here, missing
please, find my soul and confine it
own it as your most scarce possession
© simon whittle — from lovers’ tiff: a ballad
Jacob Greb 
A wonderful depiction of and artist and canvass played out as the oftentimes reluctant recipient of the touch of a brush, we all struggle to know how to approach the page at times and are guilty of mistakes. The idea of having to be committed enough to dig deep into areas past our own comfort may be where we need to look for truth, I liked that, well described. I feel once the heart of an artist can touch the soul of the canvass the two are inseparable.
A very visual piece.
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