Beginnings (Part 1)
It all starts with a beginning...
Then the pieces go on clipping
Themselves together, on a canvas soft and dripping
And all the work that you invested life in… quietly starts slipping
A dream holds it tight, yet you find out some things missing
Was it lost connection with your art, or the light around you dimming?
Or maybe time is asking you to get up from where you’re sitting
To look around a little more, and feel the pulse in living
Walk out to hear the beats, of every season singing
But the world seems so deeply cold, and home is just so warm
And you’ve been painting portraits ever since your hands were born
And all the shadows that surround you are filled with mental porn
How could a human walk into hell, and expect to change its form?
You think everything that you create symbolizes truth
Innocence and purity things not shown as news
But the poem the WORLD recites is pouring out its blues
Begging to be rescued, but its savior won’t be you...~
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