A drop of paint dived from a brush into the water.
The tear bursted and imploded,
creating clouds of color,
every cloud continuing to unfold.

Until the arbitrary colors gathered,
molding into the shape of hands.
Each finger transformed into a road,
on a map leading to far away lands

places to run away,
places to call home,
where there is no night or day
a place where anything can belong

but the drop didn't stop,
it kept running,
looking for a softer place to fall,
but the paint was quickly thinning

stretching beyond reach
tripping over molecules,
aiming for a glassy peak
before tumbling into inanimateness.

The drop didn't reach its goal.
The drop failed.
The drop should've stopped before it was too late.
Left with regret, because it was derailed.

It gave its all,
but it couldn't reach the peak...
But the artist was in awe,
So much so that the creator couldn't even speak.

The drop's "failure"
was her greatest masterpiece,
the last drop of paint she had,
has made her life's work complete.