The Artist

I seen a man once by the desolate lake

With thoughts of deep to consume his face

The earth pushed forward prior to the day

I hid in the corner while he went away

I saw the man again this time with paint

And rigours vigor; his fingers to penetrate

A canvass displayed darts of his inner pain

Strikes of red with splashes of gray 

Takes him back to that familiar place

So patient and steadily he gently proclaimed

Who is but an artist who cannot relate?

My curiosity raced in silent space

As he grabbed his bag to walk away 

Lost in a crowd the artist astray 

One clumsy morning the museum awaits

The man that I saw sketching that day

A gentle voice came down and pointed this way

Was but a portrait of Me learning the artist of the lake

Chelsea Rene Alford