A painting forgotten,
I never thought art could do anything but evolve,
But this one has been left for dead, rotten.
The artist, must have been a monster.
To make time, something to conquer.
The painting made me ponder,
Sense of the world, may not be meant to conjure.
I went to the river, every day to study the painting, become more and more vibrant.
There was always music, but for some reason it was always silent.
In all of my poetry, I had only found one way to describe it.
The painting was a mind, mindless.
It was art, it was a design, and like home, it was a structure.
I gazed in to the illuminating illustration, as if I was a baby again, staring in to my mother.
I had an idea, but apparently the river had others.
Because one day I went to the river, and the night had no color.
I watch the enchanted magic, float away in to the distance.
It was no longer an art, it was simply a vision.
I do not swim after it,
But that does not mean, it was the type of beauty that could be resisted.
I will miss my friend, forever.
I guess that is what I meant,
When I said we will ride this river together.
My tears shed, my soul bled.
And as they fell to the white floor and splattered,
I saw red.
Art is not in everything. Art, is everything.