The painting of life

By the end of my time, I’ll be inevitably framed and then hung on a wall.

Forever admired of the great work the almighty lord had pushed me through.

Splattered with various paints containing perfect sculptures of an Image different people will fathom to their lives content.

Sizes of blue for my glory days, black for the darkest of hours and green for the peace I carried along throughout my creation.

With time I will become a monument like all the marvelous works before me, because of the love and care I’d leave behind,

But I can only live for as long as my adoration captures the eye...

By the time I’ve out lived my usefulness, I’ll be raised to a rack; only those who truly appreciated what I was or am will offer the highest bid.

Though before that the price for what one would call a master painters legacy, will be of any color value the collectors will seam fit.

Regarding this, I might say I am only of importance for the duration the light shades of booming attractive colors remain undecayed.

So when all the oxblood fades away.

The world will label what was once great, the projected proper life expectancy rate of man’s life.