The Stolen Palette

The Stolen Palette

I painted with such passion,
The colours bright and true,
But as I stood back to admire,
I knew there was something amiss,

For the colours were not mine,
But stolen by a virus so sly,
Leaving my painting dull,
And my heart heavy and dry.

I stood there in despair,
Wondering what to do,
For I had put my all,
Into this painting so new.

But then I made a choice,
To let it go and move on,
For the virus had taken,
But it could not destroy,

The passion and the love,
That flowed through every stroke,
So I took a deep breath,
And destroyed the painting,

Leaving behind,
The disappointment and the hurt,
And moving forward,
To a new beginning,

With the knowledge that,
Though the virus may take,
It cannot steal,
The passion and the love,

That flows through every brush stroke,
And keeps me going,
On this journey of art,
Leaving the virus,
Forever in the past.

This poem was written by AI (using Open AI Chatbot). Read more about Piatry – Poetry written by AI. All images were generated using DALL.E 2 (Open AI)

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