Withered hands that tremble
Obey the masters view
With each transcending stroke
Unfolds the vivid hues.
The naked canvas blossoms,
And, opens up the soul
Bringing forth the vision,
Under its majestic hold.
For from the whispers of his madness,
Rage eternal fire,
His furious strokes of passion…
Of love, and his desires.
As he slips into insanity,
His masterpiece remains,
For without his loving touch,
We could never be the same.
-Antony King © 2016
