Dried palette

I held a chart of paper, a canvas,
White as snow, as smooth as silk,
I found the two sides ever so same,
No print or feel, to distinguish the fair!

I looked on deep, senses sharp,
Wondering where to stroke my brush,
The canvas was all ready to be set,
Yet, I didn't know the fair side to paint on!

A palette of colour, ready to splash,
Images galore, ready to transform,
Into pieces of art, deep from my soul,
Born with wings, to each one, a new image!

Time flicks by, as if in a daze, a race,
And, I still remain, ever so wonder struck,
Where do I touch my brush of colours,
Where do I find the clue to perfection..?

My silken touch, artistic a blend, so pure,
Cartwheel of time spins ahead, yet again,
And, I realize, I could paint either sides,
The canvas, i finally saw, in a new light!

To dip my brush onto the colours, vivid,
I chose the ink of life, green as the sprouts,
Touching the brush so special, into the green,
I realise with a pang, the paint ever so dry!

Waiting to clear off the many mundane thoughts,
I lost the beautiful images in my soul, the colours...
One long wait... and I lost it all... lost all hues, all shades,
I lost the one stroke of brilliance, that could have been...