Listen to poem:
The Stalker's Still Life Stare
The rose won’t pose, won't stay its will,
It knows it can’t be forced to stay still.
It sneaks movements between brush strokes,
Breaking free of the painter's staring yokes.
The lemon makes faces with bitter pride,
It hides its shyness with a snide slide.
Each subject plays a veiled charade,
As each freeze-frame is displayed.
The painter grabs what time would spill,
To capture one moment with all their skill.
Not knowing their aim can't be fulfilled.
For life is too fluid and free-willed.
Just after each moment is painted.
The scene is already old and outdated.
For nothing posed stays that way for long.
It shifts with each glance, and moves on.
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