The palette, He handed me
Held no designs or form
My hands brought it to my heart
Thoughtfully, the vision was born.
Step by step and etching the world
My mind cast the formless void
Mountains formed and the waters flowed
My creation well underway, and enjoyed.
There were sheep in the valleys
Grazing on the tender green shoots
And, the stars vibrated songs
While the Centaur played their flutes
My masterpiece, awe so simple and sweet
Suddenly then, took a wild distant indian beat
With the reins uncontrolled, by my dazed insane mind
Then, the crazed madness caused fires and an enormous defeat.
The palette no longer so pristine and Lily white
Took on the flavor of red harlots on a hot Saturday night.
No longer it controlled by the mind of Christ
But, The Matrix took over and vanished the light.
And my portrait, not the creation, I’d hoped.
But, is a reminder of innocence lost within smoke
And, getting refreshed and back to the start
Takes whitewashed paint, grateful grace, on artist kind of folk.
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