My portrait

There I am, at the center of the canvas My portrait shines against Apollo’s rays I stand tall and proud, as I’ve hurt none And I leave what’s behind Exactly as I found it There I was, I could’ve sworn it Amidst the trees and leaves Now lays a blank slate: the vessel Of my existence Everything so bright And I lay there white As the snow that falls in mid-July Was I even there? I don’t know... My canvas lays empty in the grass.