My bottom is getting numb,
Few hours passed by, with each brush stroke
Becoming more anxious, but less impatient
My legacy is in the hands of this artist
Whose name I do not know
More than a stranger, less than an acquaintance
“Who knew legacies take this long to create?”
Stroke after Stroke
Impatience drawing near
Same breeze that gives me comfort
Has the artist shivering
My hand has been dead for a few hours
Is he capturing the sweat beads forming on my fore head?
If he does, he’s spectacular, but I pray he’s mediocre
Still the legacy must be formed
They must remember me for my poise
My painted image will bring back memories
Good ones remain and bad ones must flee
Impatience is here,
“Who knew legacies take this long to create”?
No comments:
Post a Comment