"When the Earth's Field Shifts"

 

(I)
I choose my tools with careful hands,
Pure canvas, paints from earth’s own strands.
No plastic touch, no man-made glare,
Just nature’s breath, both wild and bare.

(II)
Your body’s lines, so lost, unsure,
Yet to my eyes, they burn so pure.
You see me work, a simple man,
Not sensing fate’s celestial plan.

(III)
But when the field of Earth will turn,
The false, the fake shall crash and burn.
No printed face, no flashing light,
No hollow love in neon bright.

(IV)
Their plastic minds will melt away,
Like whispers lost in tides of gray.
Yet from your form, one line remains,
A trace of us in time’s remains.