Jun. 24, 2015

Repainting Itself

Let me paint you a picture with words
Dipping the brush in a dialect
As smooth as silk to the ears
Contrasted with highlights
Of roughly spoken truth
A texture that reflects back honesty,
Claiming to be neither all one
Nor the other
But life's perfection
In its imperfection.

But what of the reality
To which the brush be bound
For if so painted by the eye,
For a moment you are stilled
Beauty claims the disclaimed breath
And then
It is gone.

But if so painted by the heart,
True-time collapses upon itself
Claims you as co-conspirator
And holds you for all eternity
In the passionate embrace
Of the for-ever now.

And what of the eye of the seer
Beneath which the picture dissolves
Words disintegrate and reassemble
Lost to the translation of the observer,
And therein the knowledge lies
A never changing picture 
Forever Repainting Itself.

 By Jennifer Wilson