Resurrected is the faith
And the emotion that so powerfully once
Sparkled with rich innocence and vibrance,
Whilst capturing the nostalgic joy
That for so long gripped my soul.
Oh, those were the days when Apollo’s
Golden Passion seized me with ardor,
Issuing forth an escape from this world’s mundanity.
Whoever could’ve imagined that I
Could have so perfectly preserved his edifice?
For no more am I committed to the drab, sinking
Grit that was forced upon me in my drunken stupor;
No more am I slave to the modalities
That once imprisoned my mind in agony,
For art has absorbed me into its eternal pleasure.
Expression is my religion, my window
To the surreal and to the sacred;
An everlasting joy has sprung forth
From the vestiges of my being.
Rosin erupts from the bows of my soul,
Whilst paint shoots forth
From the palettes of my heart.
The world is my canvas,
To be beautified by art.