The Lost Artist

The many times I've tried
My motivation has died
To look at my inner light
You might say it's gone out

A mere ember of what once
scorched the earth
The grey ash now spreads
And paints a dull picture
of sweet misery in the void

I craved lustful thoughts of
artful works from my hands
Now heavy and cold as stone

Pour water on me
And drown away the thirst
In my Van Gogh soul where
life has left my eyes hallowed

See in them new growth
With swirling fertile colours
That bleed upon my canvas
The Artist's secret.