The Picture
A tip of an iceberg or the passion in a volcano.
Legions of dread and fear held back in reign.
Beauty, holding the past and present together.
Lush black orientation of that pretty face.
A witch hunt into those darkened eyes.
Love’s story, of sorrow and detachment.
Unwritten words as flashes of lightening.
Sharpness probing the photogenic poise.
Forefingers holding pressure at the temples,
Throbs in the veins of life, pacified, drowned.
A balance drawn from the fading light,
Metals luster; strewn over the earthen face.
Timid are the living, in varied textures, hues
Whither exist the therapeutic streams of pain,
Reflections in the happiness of other’s joys,
The moon and the clouds, playing with time.
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