In vain I search for words enough
To praise what I have seen;
Your monuments of line and tone
Standing grandly in between
A past resonant with glories
And a future yours to form
From the tempest of your passions;
Your art’s life giving storm.
As locks of golden serpentine
With warring muscles intertwine,
Flesh-locked fires intensify
The burning blueness of an eye,
While fingers, eloquently met,
Tell of bitter love and sweet regret.
Longing for refuge and release,
Waging war to foster peace.
O how the turmoil of the heart
Builds the pure harmonies of art!
And still I search for words enough
To tell of things sublime;
Of your iridescent monuments
That test the will of time,
Paying tribute to tradition
While defining art anew.
Each stroke upon the paper is
One tiny part of you.
