Open Canvas

Within each being a canvas framed,
There let form the colours life to paint,
Ere erase the strokes of simple brush fade,
Alas could not face the patterns it forms,
Alas could refuse to cut through paper the art,
The art indeed is fickle mine heart inclined,
And whilst silence broke and so my word is lost,
Within me there remain black and white colours,
My grey is but kindred felt and earnest fought;
Then I shall wage war against the demons inside,
To history I beset myself in bleeding hope to fall,
So till heart annoy a destiny awaits my feat destroy,
With rising memory thus ye capture lest more forget, Read More

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