Picture...


Authored by authenticity, the papyrus hides in shades of grey
And now the blues die and the once blossoming reds fade away



I was made this way: tone def from every common note
All because the withered brush couldn’t deliver a proper stroke
So now I’ve got a white sheet to hide me as I’m a tragedy
But still I wait for the day I’m unveiled and crowned a masterpiece
...I waited and waited, being encircled by looming vultures
But was finally greeted by a whimpering sky that boomed with thunder
Its harsh winds smudged the colour ‘til there was no hope to dry
As an intimidating rain precipitated from the broken skies
There was no sunshine, no shelter to stow me away
Just clouds whose silhouette made me grow cold and decay
The once beautiful hues faded with no struggle or fuss
Blistering the canvas ‘til there was nothing but a puddle of mud
And when my artist found me, he couldn’t even think or react
All he saw was his dreams of a masterpiece sink through the cracks...
...Of the canvas, and the broken rooftop that had dwindled his talents
But he couldn’t stay like this, so he picked up the palette
Then grabbed the blotched pastels he had dug from the dirt
And placed the canvas against the wall with his feet in the Earth
He hated unfinished business, so he suffered in hurt
But no matter his disappointment, he still published this work
...At the unveiling of his art, I was set on a board onstage
The once white sheet hiding me was now red from the core of pain
My artist’s forehead poured with shame as he got on his seat
Then I was unveiled, and everyone burst into laughter at the mockery...
...Displayed before them, and feeling blinded from the light’s rays
I was now in the public’s eye, gripping the heat from its bright flame
The room grew colder and I must bare the screams it brings
As the papyruses kneaded strings unfolded from the heated ink
I panicked, beads of sweat fell and softly I prayed...
...That the Heaven’s would open with rain and wash me away
So my life as an art form is over, I’m forced to be traipsing this land
And I - the artist’s lifetime work entitled “The creation of man” -
Was a catastrophe, a waste of the artist’s talent and nothing more
So God, I think it’s time you go back to the drawing board...

Because man was a failure.


...Perfect

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