Drops of my soul...

In a bottle,
locked forever,
a part of it's immortal.

Hush,
the nude woman said,
in front of the painter,
immortalising her,
that painting's there forever,
in awhile she'll be dead.

The carved sculpture,
the sculpture of my mind,
it showed things I never knew,
it was me redefined.

Aroma's from different lands he mixed,
different flowers the lady picked.

In that goblet lies the wine,
it gets better with age,
deep maroon with rage.

That energy,
it never dies,
just gets converted to something else,
it's immortality to its best.

Crossed the oceans of the world,
collected its water,
the waters of the world,
collected the oysters,
have its pearls,
those ornaments,
polished surfaces, smooth,
their garments.

As red ad wine,
varied like those flowers,
an ever remaining savour,
an immortalised painting,
an immortalised sculpture,
as black as coal,
these are the drops of my soul.

Picture from the net - ( april4christ.blogspot.com/)