The Artist

"Find the poem in every person" ~ William Carlos Williams

He was quiet, with stone cold, observer eyes.
Face, set in stone, from time waves
of…  Talking to no one -
Telling no lies.

I saw him one day, at the sink…
Crystalline waters -
Downward flow
Like icy daggers
of…  Sorrow

Made serene

Liquid colors in the drain…


Art is movement that stirs the soul.

I entered his sphere, with no fear
just fascination

Starting a conversation
with a question
in earnest
regarding the process, in this, environment of waste & no waste.

He immediately saw into my heart and soul
like stone meeting stone

He knew I was real.

And we became instant friends.

Walking the yard together and having conversations
over the stars & constellations.

He told me about getting attacked with a knife
while sitting on the toilet
having to fight
for life.

And his life was art.

He described the feeling he would get
Upon hearing the midnight train, in a pit
Of night, resonating within the fabric,
Dark and distant, becoming an ever distant relic

Reminding him of the freedom he would never see
Distant lands where he would never be, eternally,
Taking even, pieces of the air that he tried to breathe
Into darkness and distance that most cannot conceive.

He had never told anyone this poignant truth,
For all of the years that had taken his youth
And made of his face, an abandoned, monastic place,
A temple of meditation & art, manifested with meditative pace.

He never painted for others, in all these meditative years,
But when I told him about my father’s death, with no tears,
Just…  Stone – He said he wanted to compose a work of art
For his friend, with each brush movement, from the heart.

They rode me out of the facility
before the work’s finality
and he looked at me...
Gaze stoney

Alive & Dead

Always alone – Never lonely

And said…  

Give them hell…  For me

And I…

Shook his hand
Written by Cipher_O (WarlordoftheWrittenWord)
Author's Note
I initially thought of writing a piece about my dad, who has passed, to incorporate into the revelation of this painting; however, I was not seeing the wave form, then, I knew... I had to write about The Artist that created this work of art...  I had a dream once, where, I was told to "tell our story"...  This dream has remained with me and I have contemplated what I know it to mean.  

Then...  I saw the above quote, in a poem by one who channels magical energies, and that was my confirmation.

- O
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