He who holds a brush,

Standing in front of the canvas

Is never in a rush,

For his mind is filled with passion

He lets creativity play its game

One dash of paint,

And lots of brains,

It was the definition of perfection

The crowd applauds,

Clearly in awe

He was in indescribable fame

But there it went,

Right there and then

A stroke of insanity came

Destroying it,

Disrupting its path

The masterpiece now in shame.