Meditation On An Artist
He painted men with long beards and missing teeth
bent women with canes
lonely children walking through meadows
on their way back home.
At night he would study each shade
each shadow of their lives
in the ramshackle cabin
he inherited from his father.
Sometimes he said he could feel them
guiding the brush,
hear their voices
singing to the starry night.
Ah, to hear him hum
when the shapes, colors, and moods on the canvas
captured a bit of what it means to be human,
all too human.
