On the outside, looking in.
It’s not because I’ve been put there.
Outside is a place I have chosen.
And yet, I peer inside,
Longing to be in there.
It’s not because I’ve been put there.
Outside is a place I have chosen.
And yet, I peer inside,
Longing to be in there.
Quell my ego
Quell my mind
They both fear
Whatever is greater than they
Now, you can call that irony, or juxtaposition, and maybe the person who painted it there was thinking that way too.
But…
Or iron
Yes, even better
Be made of iron
Iron ages
Rusts
Like the lines etched
In an old man’s face
A trickle of water
Becomes a rivulet
Becomes a stream
Becomes a river
All the while eating the rock
Over which it travels
Cutting a cleft
A channel
A chasm
A canyon
Framing the picture is easy, but the figure… the figure lacks form. A couple of poses make no improvement, until I hold my left arm out and the camera strap falls from my shoulder.
The trickle of water
Becomes a torrent
Becomes a stream
Becomes a river
All the while eating the rock
Over which it travels
Cleaving a rivulet
A channel
A chasm
A canyon