The vacant canvas menaces
a studio where paintings lean
lamentably along the wall,
unsold, unseen, despite intent
to have them hung, interpreted,
admired for their brilliant lines,
conversation pieces each,
some worthy of a critic's test.
Across the room, a painter stares,
a brush for sword, a palette shield,
to cast away the emptiness
consuming all within its claws.
The painter sabers several strokes,
and, just as swift, it's finished now:
the vanquished void becomes an art.