Da Vinci

The artist creates. He pulls the easel near. The muse stands before him, Almost bare. The brushstrokes fall. The colors start to blend. A symphony of hues Ignites within. Steady poses, the muse begins to shake. With just one glance, the canvas starts to wake. Fragile balance, every feeling pushed aside. Art takes the love, Where the shadows hide. He chose a world of colors as his Dream. Paints a picture, young man tearing At the seam. This house is aging, Window thrown wide open. He paints a portrait in a war shirt, Unspoken. Steady poses, the muse begins to shake. With just one glance, the canvas starts to wake. Fragile balance, every feeling pushed aside. Art takes the love, Where the shadows hide. He feeds on the muse with just a single Stare. Gray da Vinci is the alias he Wears. Symphony of colors burns stronger than the flame. Soul to soul to it with nothing left to Claim. He took the easel as an icon of the Fire. Raised a dark idol and Self-consumed by Desire. Consumed by desire. Art takes the love.