I look for life in art and plead for more.

The hundred pencil faces look at me;

They call for eyes to look upon their core.

Like frilly flowers blossom all for free,

The colors paint a face of life and joy.

The hazy dreams remain beneath my eyes.

These thoughts appear in paintings all enjoy.

Your spring of green and bright, pure colors rise,

Yet truly sad creators slave away.

They craft a world beyond what all behold.

They dream that pen will change to truth and they

All paint in hopes to steal a glance of gold.

Their art the tender work of confused minds

And each slow time a truthful mold of blinds.