Inconspicuously, he sits,
Sketching her life
With his generous hand.
Drawing from the depths
Of his weakened memory,
His fingers stumble upon
A forgotten laugh.
He strains to hear the sound
Of a joy he once caused,
To see the lines
Of a love he once lost.
The clouds rolled through his mind
And, just before nostalgia
Could seize his hand,
Revealed the sun.
Clarity ignited him
As his pen tirelessly
Translated vision into truth
Frozen in time.
She caressed him with her gaze—
He was young again.
Your skills of insight into who I am as The Artist inspires me to create more. Here is image you captured with words as I attempted the same reflection with my pencil...http://www.facebook.com/christophercanole
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