Quotha! Maybe ah, art the world.
Art is imbricating. It is weaved in the strings of emotions, impetuously.
Held altogether of the various thoughts, signed in the ink of time.
Let the light fall upon, glory will be in sight,
Steadily, slowly, someday…
Praise in the place, for art above.
Indeed! My mind does for the sake,
Fabricating the world, around.