The Canvas

The Canvas
From the void comes a spectre!
Nebulous concoction,
Strange to think that you could be abstracted
By such cold wisps in the cosmos

The heavenly nectar flows so free and pure,
But my mind shall stay my hand,
For if I could, then how should I?
Bring myself to smear your memory

Your dust is my dye,
And though I wish to homogenize,
I can't seem to forget,
All those aeons you shone so brightly

Painting your past into the future,
For each of your tones are but seeds,
Sown so that I may gaze upon your beauty,
In each light in the sky