I walk in beauty As if Venus has bestowed her wings on my back. Her frolicked hair in oil paint perhaps I am her redemption? To seek both answer and truth In an age without stone cut statues?
But I do not resemble the sliced abdomen of statues and I am not gilded in beauty nor do I tell the perfect truth. I tend to look back, craving redemption illustrated in paint
My fingers tremble in paint frozen at the canvas like a statue. There is no point in a redemption when I cannot see beauty. So I learn that I will not be back until I have learnt the truth.
And when I have learnt this truth, so stark as oil paint, I must make the decision to come back. Of course I will change, for I am not a statue, but I will be shrouded in my own beauty for Venus will get her redemption.