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The Face Painter

A milling crowd (aren't they all), I call my name then try my real name then a made-up name. The crowd separates reluctantly, A man with an ever changing face steps forward. I intently recognize myself, a self of many ages, some even before birth. I am emotional, this is a cathartic moment my eyes are pinballs being flipped in a lit-up cosmic game. The person is my personal imago/, amigo, avatar, my part-time impersonator. This is no time for self analysis, I take him by the hand lead him into my mind, claim him, show him as I am now in the eye of a cracked mirror. His face has stopped fluttering through time, his eyes are now moth orbs as golden as an astronauts visor. I reflect upon them like the sun. He tells me that all of his personas, all of his faceted me-ness revolves around an inner star, then walks absent mindlessly back into the crowd. I turn to look at the rest of the world, it is a radiant carousel painted upon an endlessly nocturnal canvas. The canvas and the painting were created by an unknown artist, one still waiting to be discovered.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2023




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Date: 4/22/2023 6:27:00 AM
Very interesting, Eric! Somuch to think about!
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Eric Ashford
Date: 4/22/2023 9:09:00 AM
Thank you Kim for reading and commentating on this. Like many of my poems there is a strong spiritual content to this work which I am glad you appreciated. All the best Eric

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry