I used to paint the pictures
That I saw in my mind
Each day was a treasure
I'd rush to open and find

Splashes of color
Sunrises and birds
Back when art was a language
That I preferred over words

Now trying to get
Some thoughts off my back
I painted a picture
My canvas turned black

No textures or patterns
were there in my head
Words are all I have now
The artist is dead.