I lift the sheet and there before me stands my blank canvas.

I roll up my sleeves and raise my brush,

The tip glistening with a shining silver touch.


The darkness of midnight consumes the soul,

The stars too faraway to shine bright,

Clouded by shadows which danced in the Wonderland of my mind.


I take of my mask,

The beast pondering what to paint tonight.

Loneliness? Despair? Guilt? Hate?

What to paint? What to paint?


The brush hovered above the canvas.

My hand seemed to not be in control.

The twitch, the quake, oh!

The never ending hate!


The silver paint  dripped upon the pale canvas.

Just a small glistening spot.

Now the brush dips slowly –

The beast in control, I the absent minded passenger.


No sense of direction – Which way to stroke?

No sense of location – What do I want?

No sense of which road to take – Why was I running?

Everything, growled the demon in my eyes.


The brush stroked lightly upon the soft-tight Snow-White linen.

But who Mirror, Mirror, on the wall,

Who is the darkest of them all?

A thin line of silver barely visible – alas, a safe starting point.


This was new material.

I have never painted before on something so pure,

Yet so impure.

Something so worthless.


What will this create?

No fucking idea.

But why not try?

Now who was talking?

Man…boy or Beast.


The sting of the lost soul,

An expression through art.

Then came a distant voice.

Was it me? A conscience?

I do not know,

But down went the brush and into the water pot.


Teary eyed and screaming inside the canvas is covered once more.

My eyes closed for the night and I put the beast at bay.

I felt as if I was drifting through the sky,

I felt the beast was finally tamed.

I prayed never again that I would paint.


And then –

I awoke.


The covered canvas stared at me,

Stinging with a calling of pain,

The paint had bled unto the sheet.

Just a tiny spot, but now look at that!


Aren’t I magical?

Somewhere the Beast from deep within roared with a thunderous clap of laughter.

I lifted the sheet and Abracadabra!

For I had painted with silver,

Those faint lines from the night before,

Glistened…glistened in red.