Our flesh is barren
Few have witnessed the canvas before you
Unclaimed by mortal failure and rotting within the shadows
Clay, awaiting the truest form of Art to breathe it life

We have tried ourselves
Each unfinished mound of carmine
Meaningless without the touch of The Master
Ignorance manifested in each undulating vine

He was right
Now I stand without Examplar
Gaze cast across fields awash with nothing
Patience is all we have ever known, regardless.

Penned by my hand on the 18th of Daedalan, in the year 875 AF.