Playing with Paint

This poem was written about a week ago. I tried to think of a metaphor for life, so I looked around and saw a painting my father did. Thus, this poem was created.

I was a canvas
Blank and waiting
Until Life began to paint
At first, a smaller paintbrush
Tiny Details
Pastel Colours
Brushes began to broaden
Colours changed their hue

I'm collecting a full pallet
Experimenting with patterns
Varying my strokes
Yes, there are dark patches
Corners of black
But in the very center
It's still the brightest white.