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Little by little, brushstrokes spell out my story on canvas.
Efrat Cybulkiewicz

The paint is drying, and time is dying. The pain is crying, lying on my back, trying to get back the time, to brushstrokes too fast, wet went dry and love went dull; now I live in a portrait I never painted.
Anthony Liccione

Ever sit and wonder
Where water becomes a stream?
In ways there is no difference
From nothing it begins
The pieces come together
And it ebbs and flows and spins
In time it becomes power
No force may stop its flow
None may know its beginning
But all may see it grow
A tiny drop of water
Robert Longley, Coming Together

Christmas Eve And Other Stories, Trans‐Siberian Orchestra

This picture was created in Mandelbulb and PhotoShop