But, Mr. Man, Mr. Man,
Is there something you get by?
If a not lover, friend, or family,
then maybe something like a hobby?
To tell you the truth,
he had eyes for murals.
Need not to practice
for he was a natural.
Since Mr. Man was a kid,
his passion was unfold.
Sitting so concentrated
on a chair to mold.
Gazing upon the trees,
oozing with the wind.
A picture so flawless,
crafted with pure talent.
Camera were his eyes,
so impossible it may seem.
But with grit and desire,
his attributes, so keen.
A kid full of hope
gone so suddenly.
A palette of dreams
spilled by the balcony.
An unsupportive family,
his reason to part.
His dreams of a painter,
became blinded art.
