To the art that no longer could be seen
Shadowed away like a hermit,
left in cold air
Asking..
“Where was the light I once received?”

To the pieces that came from precise
brush strokes
and left unfinished
As the artist turned an eye to another work on their easel

To the art that tells itself
that the worth you once held
has withered away as the gold shines no more.

Whatever abandonment,
Whatever shadows hides you,
Whatever flaw, mark, or unfinished points haunts you

All doesn’t degrade you
from the true nature
That is hidden in yourself
you are what is meant to be

Art.

Give me light
that the poppy receives

Give me Rain
to quench my thirst

As I hunger and thirst
for you
I sit here and ask when you’ll return

Slowly,
My skin cracks and my heart aches
As my bones protrude,
I’ve begun to wither into a corpse
of ruin and sallow skin


I want you;
Your rays, Your light.
Burn me until my skin detests —
Screaming
for all you give

Give me all
I hope to receive