There was a time when I dreamt fantasies
And onto the canvas of my mind's eye
I daubed with frolics of wild artistry
Bold and gallant my brushstrokes were
Yet now hazed and veiled my artworks lie
Shrouded in mists of clouded memories

I remember my proudest opus was
That landscape of untold mirages
Slumbering deep in depths of conscience
I shall grope towards the scattered pieces
Seeking to awaken distant inklings
Of lingering mirth and ingenuity

I think the painting had untamed colours
Vibrant and virile the scenery was
Perchance alps crowned in wreaths of stars
Cradled a lake of vermillion fire
Where hungry flames licked a shadow—
A frosty orb of silvery tendrils

There were creatures grazing on meadows
Only the meadows were not green and lush
But broken sandhills of gilded golds
And the creatures were no beast nor human
For they had heads of earths and tails of skies
In this realm of romantic revelries

Now as my mind bears the weight of years
The paint is peeling; the canvas cracking
I feel my oeuvre fading; I see it going
I try to grasp wildly; but I know not how
It slips through the final clutches of mind
Dissolving in airs of fleeting creativity