be it a portrait or sketch, it wasnt hard to get his mother to boast
at breakfast, he was the type to literally paint his butter on toast/
yet eventually the artist in him became a mid-summers day ghost
‘n sadly before he met his callin, his inner-youngster met growth/
but he knew he still had it all! in a life, some shutters dont close
for he had a skill and a wall, it was time that he brush up on both/

the naked wall called to him, in an instant, he’d jot a work plan
and after years of hearing the word CAN’T, he got his first can/
he started at night…but embarked with a bright spark in his eye
that somehow allowed him to harness the light darkness denied/
it was rationalization vs. his artist inside... armed with his pride
his brush offered a stroke of genius with the smartest of strides/
‘God damn my hearts a bad guide!’ the kid scoffed with a smirk
cuz he finally followed the thing, and ended up lost in his work/
he swiftly bathed the wall with paint, he smothered it with haste
‘n graciously gave it every shade, including the color in his face/
it absorbed each drop like soil plains that been floodless fo years
he redefined the 3 primary colors…with blood, sweat, and tears/
he fought thru the strife, paintin a name he thought up that night
wit that he didnt just personify the wall, he also brought it to life/
tho his childhood curse was uplifted wit the word he had written
he wasnt content, with this person’s ambition it hurt to be driven/
cuz he had perfect precision that could rival a surgeon’s incision
but the worst indecision when it came to his version of finished/
yet people saw the worth he had given to the earth that we live in
nothin as influential emerged from a vision since birth of religion/

Pt 1.....If you liked this then check out the ending .....
thank you for reading...

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