I seen a man once by the desolate lake
With thoughts of deep to consume his face.
The earth pushed forward prior to that day
I hid in the corner while he went away.
I saw the man again, this time with paint and rigorous vigor; his fingers to penetrate..
A canvass displayed darts of his inner pain
Strikes of red with splashes of grey takes him back to that familiar place.
So patient and steadily he gently proclaimed, "Who is but an artist who couldnt relate".
My curiosity raced in silent space as he grabbed his bag and walked away
Leaving only the this to remain
But a portrait of me learning the Artist of the lake
Chelsea Rene Alford