When the colors were blood-smeared hands
the walls of pain,
then one day, came the brush and replaced with the sweet pain
nature. Soft
he started 'a,
show its beauty on a canvas, then everything
appeared out of nowhere when the' soul decided
lines ran in search of a dream
they felt after they found him alive, and was born
the poetic architecture of the verb
phathos.
When the colors were blood-smeared hands
the walls of pain,
then came the 'artist
and filled all of' love.
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