An artist doesn't stop loving the art after he has painted
The sun doesn't stop to shine after the sunset
Neither does breathing cease after we've fainted
Nor jungle cacophony after Elephant silencing his trumpet
The road doesn't end when you reach a destination
The moon doesn't give up It's glow when blanketed by clouds
An answer doesn't end it all, there's always another question
And loneliness cannot be evaded by hiding in crowds
Out of sight doesn't always mean out of mind
Going uphill doesn't mean life will never *****
Walking down your road doesn't mean you ain't blind
Sometimes the blind lip of faith doesn't necessarily require hope
So it doesn't mean I'll get over you when I finally move on
The wounds always heal, but the scars live on

at 16 they taught u
s about shakespea
re, how? but now I
realize there was m
ore learned than bl
ank stares at teache
rs waiting for bells
to slide departures
under the doors of
blank minds. balco
ny preachings in fr
ont of loveless tang
ents foreshadowing
the curvature of the
then mindless. 5 ye
ars gone i still find m
yself wandering aim
lessly to the next cla
ss with the thought o
f the useless priors a
nd the books are get
ting heavier

Like the portrait by John Singer Sargent,
of two helplessly hopelessly wedded souls.
The portrait was dim, even in 1897.
The couple grimly seeking searching reaching towards heaven,
timeless romantic.
Mr. and Mrs. Isaac Newton Phelps, who are you?
Starring through a century of fading oils, all my emotions become,
revoked. I sit and stare in repose.
What's left but to stoke the flame; the burning desire, love, and addiction.
Mr. Sargent did you understand my affliction?
Lest I travel back to the Rocky Mountains, those billowing rocks so beautifully captured by your contemporaries, by Albert Bierstadt.
I am a lost wandering critic, traveling through time using paint as my medium, to form these rhymes.
Ridding myself of a life that has become full of all things labeled tedium.
From the French to the Austrian to the English to the American, a new world unfurls.
All cultures aiming to capture the intrinsically fleeting moments of life, nature, and the beautiful, as they curl.
In and out, a dance of colors, a pageantry of light yet again is unfurled.
Only then does my soul feel full and bright.
The fog clears as my headlights part the mist, and I realize, as these masters before me, I do have something to offer...
Love!
Forgiveness!
Hope!
                               ...for a new tomorrow...
A new heaven.
A new Earth.
Today