In the lines that hold their minds
lay secrets of a thousand years
stories that could tell themselves
round as history does.
Each time inspiration took its place
it would bleed a thousand pasts,
guided by unconscious thought
revealing what we had to face.
In a work an artist tells
his make up of a million souls
to show us how we’ve done
or picture warning bells.
Yet pictures are adored at ignorant stance
and forgotten are the ghosts that talk
and all the time we have for art
we forget about what it holds.
