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make me stroke some figures
let me draw some lines
to divide the being of things
of those absolutes, constant, and divine

make my back straighten
and my eyes glare more narrow
make my lips damper
and my blood than red be thicker

get me that blank canvas
I will paint a stupid portrait
get me those shrugged brushes
I will ponder the mysteries of contrast

get me that bucket of water
I will saturate the brushes in lone
let them sink and be drowned
to get by the pain of being tossed
 
how painful it is to paint
a landscape of grass and meadows
body on the ground, on all four
looking down at all that matters

but divine it is to paint a picture 
of the blue majestic skyline
and your neck with poise looks up high
to the more meaningful side of life

I will paint an image of a cactus
spikes big and rough
and when drought comes near and after
none will I fear not

I will paint a poppy alongside
so if I may go back where I went
it is only to show how I come to survive 
out of all the lost blood that I'd shed

and from all that rubble
I will stand tall
and move against a fighting surge
of all this life's river