Man.
I have painted man—
In a red dream I have painted man,
And there is life, and blood, and flesh,
And pain, and death too,
But I paint nonetheless.
I sketch out the form;
I trace between dimension and dream—
I listen to the void; I see the form—
It is beautiful, and echoes, replicating
Amongst the sightless seas of stars
Bathed in the blackest brightness.
Lo, I have painted man—
In a red dream I have painted man,
And there is life, and blood, and flesh,
And love, and birth too,
So I paint nonetheless.
I look with lament, and sorrow and hope—
A pulse thuds from celestial peripheries,
A thought sounds from the void;
Yes, I have heard it, I hear it—
It is red, and fleshy and finite,
And warm, into form once more.