[Sweet birch trees, swishing <br />in the breeze, blushing <br />periwinkle hues spread across the sky and <br />fingers laced. Traced, backwards, <br />are the letters of the clouds <br />between two lips.] <br /> <br />Leaning against a tall oak tree, <br />the artist grunts, <br />searching for something in the stillborn sky. <br />To capture the horizon, the guava <br />passion of the sun, such beauty <br />too immense for simple eyes- <br />that would be her greatest dream. <br /> <br />Ahead, <br />the mountains brush the sky, <br />behind, <br />the oceans crawl to infinite- <br />reminding her of her place <br />(far below the endless atmosphere.) <br /> <br />Her eye for beauty <br />flushes pale pink between her ears, <br />residing there instead of <br />manifesting itself on paper - <br />she's crying wet blue tears <br />for her failure, and everything she can't afford to miss. <br />She'll try every day at dusk for the rest of her life <br />to capture the horizon, but somehow, it will always <br />so eloquently elude her. <br /> <br />Meanwhile, he waits, patiently hiding in <br />shadows and stubble, <br />listening, intent, to the breathing of her heart. <br />She is lost, in the passion, in the moment, <br />in the challenge. He observes, and with every click <br />captures a little bit of her essence, <br />revealed in the dark, his eye for beauty. <br /> <br />And she’s scribbling furiously, <br />she thinks they miss each other but <br />here they are <br />frozen in a moment <br />so when the sun has sunk into the distance <br />and their love has drifted away with the clouds, <br />when she’s thrown up her brush in frustration and <br />he quits carefully monitoring her progress, <br />they’ll have one blurred photo and one messy painting <br />to remind them of their beautiful, fingerpaint perspectives.<br /><br />Zoe Nyght<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/artists-in-the-making/
