A word with infinite meaning,

An imperfect word with perfect definitions,

A manifestation of what the subconscious envisions,

Art, the bewitching thesis that bonds us.

Critics may submit to this foregone talent,

But ‘tis true lover shall guard.

The masters that create belle,

Or the kings that define the strokes,

For thou hast risen to uncover the truth and the lies,

For the search of thy soul.

“The world is my oyster,” said the greatest,

Henceforth, with the sword of strength,

We shall shape the unseen,

As to creating the abstract masterpiece,

The Art of Life.