Lupine Volt
My name is...
Hi...um...there's a poem here...so...yah.
Creation
The canvas is blank, the brush bare of paint,
So far, this is all that is free from taint.
But soon, that will change, for the better or worse,
And it’ll live forever, a blessing and curse.
To sculpt from the emptiness a landscape so bright,
Or to grace pages by pages with pictures of fright,
To take the words inside your soul,
To take what is broken and make it whole.
Whether it’s art, or words, or life,
By it born from joy, from sorrow, or strife,
We take up our brushes and take on the void,
And for better or worse, purity is destroyed.
Whether or not our creations live on,
All depends on what we have drawn,
Will the people adore it, will they give it their praise,
Or will it lay forgotten till the end of our days?
Alas, there is no way to know what will be,
All we can do is set ourselves free,
We bring what is inside of us to the light of dawn,
Our children, to remember us when we are gone
The canvas is blank, the brush bare of paint,
So far, this is all that is free from taint.
But soon, that will change, for the better or worse,
And it’ll live forever, a blessing and curse.
To sculpt from the emptiness a landscape so bright,
Or to grace pages by pages with pictures of fright,
To take the words inside your soul,
To take what is broken and make it whole.
Whether it’s art, or words, or life,
By it born from joy, from sorrow, or strife,
We take up our brushes and take on the void,
And for better or worse, purity is destroyed.
Whether or not our creations live on,
All depends on what we have drawn,
Will the people adore it, will they give it their praise,
Or will it lay forgotten till the end of our days?
Alas, there is no way to know what will be,
All we can do is set ourselves free,
We bring what is inside of us to the light of dawn,
Our children, to remember us when we are gone