the year of lyrics: a poetry project

my search for inner-peace, one poem at a time

Day 89 – Silent Artist

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He paints this picture with the blackest ink
Swift strokes with a pen
He traces
He shadows
He darkens
He captivates a glimmer of my attention

As I steal a glance, I feel a bit guilty
And this he probably knows this of me
And we move in gentle sways
Pushed by the varying degrees of gravity

But I am:
An innocent onlooker
An interested stranger
An honest wanderer

Still, I am:
A witness to this pure bliss
A quiet admirer
Envious of his unannounced talent

I admit, I took another gulp
A deeper glance
And drank even more in
It was liquid of the most calming kind
The type that soothes,
Yet slows
‘Cause I am really trying to not impose


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