Oh what a dream! I used to view the world as a blank canvas Paintbrush in hand, stroke in check Prepared to paint the picture of perfection Now that canvas has withered and died In its place is a picture, very much alive The picture is ugly and repulsive My hands and eyes are idle now I no longer feel the urge to create Nor do I wish to transform and tinker Exasperated and apathetic, I surrender my brush to become The Thinker