The Artist

His life was a piece of abstract art,
Simple forms that fill with meaning.
Careful strokes pouring from his heart
Are members of his life convening:
The professor, the mother, the dog.
He was a merry man
With a lot of space to play with,
And a friendly fellow
With many stories to share,
And a dying person
Foreboding the last stroke.
His stories twirl, and the colors whirl;
The canvas becomes a merry-go-round
Spinning faster and faster.
There remains
One lift of the brush,
One final stroke,
One breath,
And the final touch:

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: