Art
Passion spoke out unto the canvas, the colors aligned in beauty it was a face
Expressions stroked all in oil, demanding to be viewed by the those whom loose all in color
Stroke on stroke the brush made love to the canvas, and beauty was the offspring of what took place
Emotions, inspirations drove the hand of art itself to create, and take all but life
Romantic are the rays of ligth that bounce of the canvas, as they caress the eye
One can feel the art, as the soul itself peeks out into the portrait standing still
Delivering messages, forms and styles that migth even kill
Candy to eye or some say, talent too dwells in the oil, again inspiration and no lie
A painting worth a thousand spoken words?
Feed it then to the migthy vision of a true poet, and he shall find a million with in
Art speaks, for it feeds the imagination from a window of a soul in sin
The tone of a poets voice in love can jump start the heart into romantisim, with out any swords
One can day dream of walking in such paintings, full of life and love
Compare it not to the once spoken battle of a raven and a dove
Must one call himself a Romeo to speak in love?
For even the coldest of hearts can speak in art, dwelling is the love that bonds the color
Her art, entered me, inpowered me with hope and affection
A well done trap can you see? Her art released my spirit free into my heart
Consumed by her voice, her speaking mind, troubled I find myself for attention
I love her, I am her art
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