The Waiting Tree Final

Saturday, September 06, 2008

My Fair One made a note.  That note resulted in a second look at the painting.  The second note resulted in going back to work on the painting.  NOW it’s done.  And I agree, it goes nicely with the poem.  The original is at about 3,000 pix square, and looks better at 1000 than this 500x500.  I keep ‘em resized to the itty-bitty so they fit, and EE doesn’t like my artistic pop-up attempts.  Email me or leave a comment if you want to see the REAL big one.  Right click and View Image to see the bigger version.
Though some might think so, I don’t really find this image to be dark and foreboding.  It’s kinda nice.

Postcard From There

And too afraid to make sense of this
That would probably come out as nonsense.
To say how much I miss
That sense of you
Where I could feel through walls,
See your thoughts through your eyes.

You see I lost parts of me.
And I can’t bring them back.
But I can’t explain to you how much it means to me,
For maybe you don’t see the loss so hard
And how much I die
When I recall what I cannot.

I trundle about
On my peg-leg of reality,
Shuffling my fingers across the shuttle,
Weaving the means to scratch by.
And it seems sometimes
That this is all I have,
All else scattered to four winds.
No passion.
None of what I was.

Just gray morass of breathing.
Of peering from apprehensive eyes.
Fine on the skin, real and tangible,
But empty as a dried pomegranate,
And hard.

And if that is real life?
I want to be fake.