MUSIC FOR SALE

I painted away, against a blacken sky,
A bridge of red, from a poets eye.
The details set, like a burning flame,
Against the black, it was quite a scene.

And then a voice, from an evil face,
Asked of me, to give up my race.
And if I would, the voice then said,
I'd be the most famous, Painter of red.

I was perplexed, at this strange request.
"Me" the most famous, Painter of red?
I then became anxious, as it dawned on my mind,
The question it asked, put my soul on the line.

In the creative, dream that I lived,
Two spears appeared, next to my red.
I picked up the first one, and with all of my might,
I threw it at the figure, of this evil sight.

It passed right through, with no effect,
I picked up the next one, with a suspicious regret.
I then threw this spear, with all that I had,
Very hopeful, that it would make me glad,

But when it also,
had no effect,
A fear came upon me,
I had no power left.

Then from above me, and to the right,
A voice spoke to me, from the Father of light.
It said to me, throw the paint brush!
But the idea to me, seemed more than humorous.

Throw the brush I said, but what can that do?
Then I realized, just who I was talking to.
I picked up the brush, covered in the red paint,
I threw the brush, right at it's face.

The figure laughed, as it moved on it's way,
Perhaps it will tempt me, another day.
But the new idea, is here to stay,
Throw the brush He said, was the better way!