Meaning of Life

Meaning of Life
by Ricki Blanchard

On the day I was born
I was given one canvas
And an endless supply of paints
In every hue imaginable.

“What shall I paint?” I asked.
“The Meaning of Life,” was the answer.

So I began to create
With quite elementary strokes.
As time went by, my pictorials
Became more elaborate and sophisticated.

I possessed a free hand early on.
But then I painted what others
Thought I should, or what I
Thought others wanted to see.

Layer upon layer, pictures and
Landscapes, always changing
Sometimes retro or repetitive
On my one and only canvas.

More than once I colored
Over a scene still wet
To obliterate what was there
Making a total mess of it all.

My paints would become
Disorganized and scattered
Needing patience to pull them together
into a workable palette.

How this old canvas can withstand
The many coats of my imaginings
Are beyond my understanding,
But hold it all, it does.

You see, the Meaning of Life
Is exactly how I see it when I see it
Carefully or carelessly brushed
On my one and only canvas.

The canvas itself is meaningless.
All that is and No-thing at all.
A surface on which to illustrate
My illusions, ever-changing.

Of late, I find my paintings
More unique, less detailed
Vibrant and soft at the same time.
Always ready to be the one and only canvas
for a new view.