Artistry confessed

Stroke soft, with the very tip of a brush.
Meet perfection. Drawn. Praised. Wanted?
Verbs are deemed. Minutes, hours... hush.
How long can one stay, or, be willingly haunted,
To love, what he thinks faultlessness,
Observe’t in the rite of all revered.
To learn of his own meaningless,
Deny, to remain a pervert, or be,
Mortally worthy to all, keep hopes
On shelves, crusted ‘ever’. Love not.
Llove it short, love it tall.... Painting sun,
Painting moon, painting desert...


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