A mirage of colour swallows my sight.

An expression of love beckons from He,

Would you die for your art, and move to the height?

Would I succumb to ardour, drown in its sea?

The windswept moon’s sallow stirs a response,

Like the piercing pointe which throbs with ecstasy.

The blessing remains from the renaissance –

I can find my saviour’s complexity.

A living sacrifice that spilled His red,

Now lets me that I may convey new hue.

My love defines my life and fills my head

With vivid cries for the dreamers of true.

But in all the outpour of shouting art,

There is no greater depth than in your heart.