Brushes (imagery)

I have painted...portraits so colourful that they arouse joy, With details so fine and eloquent that they hiss mellifluous notes to the soul, Portraits so meaningful that their meaninglessness take you to the woods. I have painted...portraits darker then the darkest fantasy, So saddening that the core trembles instantaneously you gaze at them, Portraits of ire, and anguish as the dried-up smudges cry and scream. I have painted...portraits both black and white - at times, I'd skillfully blend them into shades of grey, Some with oozing blood - you'd wish to get a cloth and blot them, And in some, a hoarse quivery voice cries for a helping hand. With these brushes: dazzling alleys with men in elegant garments - woody scents have been painted, These brushes have painted the lost souls who roam the streets barefooted and call them home, These brushes have neatly drawn fierce lionesses who'd shatter frames to safeguard their cubs, Those ferocious winds that trigger leaves to be wobbly? They sing hymns of anger in these portraits, And some are a script of gratitude to you and thy gracious soul that rescu'd me from the depths of hell, But mostly, on those canvases: love and devotion are the key seals.