This is a desert.
Stark and white, it
seems to stretch on forever,
in an infinite aching lonliness.
It begs to be tainted, to be allowed
some sweet drop of liquid to trickle
upon it, and quench its unceasing thirst. Some
sweet drop of colour perhaps, of vibrance, to
provide the appearance of life, of meaning, of beauty
on something so deeply desolate and seemingly forgotten.
And so, the artist begins to paint.