Dreamscape
From a
distant place called life
Painted
across a canvass of many years
Filled with
days and years of many tones
Some hues
are bright while others - so dark.
The range
of images are clear and present
While many
others are intriguing; indiscernible.
Stepping
closer to the work - it is a lifetime
In scope
and detail however, it is incomplete.
The quadrivium
of perspectives, while simple,
Much too
intricate to absorb instantly.
The nine
enneads formed into a square;
Threes forming
a canopy of trees.
Reaching
out to touch the painting
There is
no stillness – it is alive;
Expanding
equally and exponentially
It is
plain to see many unfilled and unfinished
Aspects
of the art where it fades to rawness
Or is
pale and faint to its age.
Now the
old man enters without fanfare
And sits
alone in quiet ponder
The painting
moans in aches of birth
For the
work pulsates in elaboration
The colors
are vivid and vibrant
As his
eyes close and become blind.
And a
ship of fools and poetasters
Carry out
the last feast to all that is verse
And sail
against the adverse winds
To carry
the old man’s canvass to its place at sea
Where the
deep waters keep the mountains
That he
loved so because they hold - the next horizon.
Dedicated to Yvette; who seeks to see and touch her canvass.
