Personal Impressionism Poem by Mary Champion

The Ancient Master of my dreams
Comes with his brush to paint the scenes
Upon the back-cloth of my mind,
And whispers, ‘That's where you can find
A hint of Truth.'

‘There is an outline drawn to fill.
Complete the picture if you will.'
And sometimes what I see comes true,
Although my hand distorts the view
And clouds the Truth.

His simple lines will soon be lost
Midst childish scribble, to my cost,
As I drag fears out of the dark
To blot the page and leave their mark
There on the Truth.

The Ancient Master of my dreams
Comes with his brush to paint the scenes.
I struggle through my tangled thoughts
And there, amidst my clumsy daubs,
I glimpse the Truth.