Eloquence is never reached in painting,

When you do it with hand and brushstroke,

You toil with the shape to make it protect your self-esteem,

Your honor, your self-esteem, is bridged by a mere blank canvas,

If with sickness, your become no hearing allowed for friends,

Because what you say comes from a fountain of youth,

You don’t even need to be alive for the point of no return,

No lazy body from man’s self-esteem ritual and last yell,

Becomes a island to bring sensual committee of daughter rites,

To making a wise rat feel the need to love his enemy.

Poem by Nelson Bedolla Medina,

Arts Consortium,

May 31, 2025.