Portrait of a Man
For years I have fled from a nameless figure
that first blossomed in water on an unsuspecting page,
was built unknowingly on a canvas in oils,
leaked from the tip of a chortling fountain pen,
and sketched in wandering shades of flower-grey.
A hand, taken from a poet whose lamp still burned into the night
A pair of eyes, jewels hidden behind fractured glasses
Hair, raven-black and ruffled in the direction of the wind
A nose, flawless white, from a marble sculpture in the park
Lips, pale rosy and stolen in the middle of song
A back, slightly bent beneath the burden of time
Two feet wrapped in weary brown shoes that walked the whole way.
For years I have fled from a nameless figure
For years I have learnt by heart the essence of his being
For years I have whispered in secret an unknown identity
For years I have yearned for his soundless voice.
And then, he came to me.
© 2010
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