The classic metal artist.
The man of sharpened tongue.
With each lick a picture,
He paints upon your canvas.

The rarely appreciated work of a little understood poet.
Painting poetry.
Though many would seek to emulate what one stroke of his brush may convey,
Only few possess the means to reproduce the sheer purity of emotion in every sweep, line and dot.
Many forgeries gain more applause,
Yet the painter allows them spotlight.
The man who paints in the shadows is rarely seen hanging in public halls.
Seeking not fame, fortune or acknowledgement.
He paints only for purpose.
Love the painter,  love the poet.
Though the man himself is flawed.
He will not cry for anyone, nor pray nor care nor wonder.
He does not put his brush away, after all.


Blood does paint the prettiest pictures.