Immortality of Spencer

Love doesn't die, but it leisurely fades

A gradient memory that slowly degrades

Nothing will exist in this world long after we die,

Except art - where our ideas, creations and emotions lie

Let me tell you the story of Spencer

A frail, young boy but an aspiring maker

Of art, beauty, and all that he desire

Always taking risks, putting himself on fire

But it was the fire of the old and unknowing society

Scorching him with their so-called "veracity"

Their "knowledge" of how the world truly is

But for Spencer, its a knowledge he rather miss

So he locked himself up on the college dorm

A pen on his hand and an idea far from the norm

Yet he stared at the paper with nothing to write

Nothing to talk about, nothing to fight

He looks outside and see a young maiden

Standing on the grasslands of the college's garden

Wearing a white cloak of pureness and beauty

To him, she's the one who knocked down Spencer's own tranquility

It made him start, it made him write

No minute passed that he ever raised his head up to the light

He had his head close to the paper, neck bent as if he's kissing it

But he had to perfect it - put words to where they really fit

It was the first time he had done it and he felt pleasure

It overthrew his grief and had a joy that he can't measure

So being filled with joy, he ran outside

His tears hidden by the rain as if he never cried

So he dashed through the rain and went to the place where he saw

The beauty named Rosana Stroke, someone he felt had no flaw

But amidst the rain, he stopped

His hand gripping the poem then suddenly dropped

Rosana already had someone and it was, among Spencer's friends,

The one he truly lend shoulders with and suddenly, it ends 

The gripping truth shackled him through the ground

He felt helpless, chained and bound

In the pouring rain of sorrow and misery

In the glances he had of first-hand trickery

He felt more than betrayed, more like dead

His head once filled with joy, now full of dread

He returns to his dorm, alone and wrecked

In front of him was a blank canvass with not even a speck

Of paint from the canisters of iridescent beginnings

That shalt show him the beauty of incandescent endings

After taking a hold of himself, he took his first stroke

Drew patterns for the hair with pressure that the pencil broke

But he persisted and quenched the pain growling inside

A week later and the paint had already dried

"If I die, you will live and always will," Spencer murmured

Though Spencer felt that he was murdered

He still was able to stand up and show everyone

How great the piece that he had done

It was the face of Rosana and her godly face

Looking at it, Spencer felt no disgrace

"You said your name was Rosana but I knew you were a man,

Someone named Peter - where my love began."

He knew that society wouldn't accept 

A gay, frail, young boy existing so he kept

All secrets and desires inside of his soul

Yet still loved Peter as a whole

But even though no one knew that,

Even after when he's dead and just a soul looking at

The world; remember that forever he lives on

As his art transcended him everyday in every breaking dawn