These subtle lights will hipnotize me blind-
as I brush each stroke of color on cream plates.
And they are swirled to porclained fragiled winds-
that blow each other to solid circles and senless shapes...
..... A nature's art,
..... My creation
....A love not ceased
.... To art salvation.
And the pinkish colored skies- and brown, purple hills,
so slightly caress as puzzled piece of shards to hold.
And the edges so dark-elved, magical green at silent still,
will mourn itself awake as the portrait does hang and unfold.
..... A portrait hanging
.... A nuissance sense of recreation
..... My hands did sweat
..... But O the art salvation.
And people walk just past the empty hall of shallow walls,
to stop in awe and watch the colors with artistic blend.
Their eyes begin to uncease their roaming, and start to fall
to the upbringing passion and love of an artist can send.
..... washed out eyes look with flare
..... to wonderous sort in recreation.
.... The art that gently glares
.... Be the most inner art salvation.