Capture
I sit alone, surrounded by brushes, paint and pencils, all ready to do my bidding. Some people sing with a voice that can paint moving pictures, each note spiraling in the dance of a song. Others write with a voice so powerful that they can morph the mundane into incomprehensible splendor.
I am also an artist. My voice is the color flowing from a canvas. My melody the graphite scraping life into parchment.
My thoughts run wild in a kaleidoscope of possibilities, all battling for exhibition. What shall I create?
Should I let cherry blossoms float on the page, or adorn a few swallowtails? Should I attempt to tame a mighty beast, or lay out the vast plains of the savanna? Your image floods my mind and I forget everything else. Should I attempt to capture you?
Decision made, my fingers spring to life.
Graphite lines shape a strong jawline; chisel the cheekbones encasing your grin.
A few cheerful creases form beside your eyes, complimenting your smile.
Your lips keep me captive, enrapturing me even as I draw them.
Your laugh echoes in my memories, the melodic tenor of your voice soothing my soul.
I command burnt umber and emerald fire to fill your eyes, resembling the forests you love so much.
Tapered espresso locks now frame your smooth brow, marked with a single sun-tanned strip. I can almost feel the silky texture with the stroke of my brush.
I blend in the tan hue of your skin, sculpting the contours I have studied so well.
The last pencil pauses, blunt from its revelry. The portrait seems complete, each stroke in harmony with its purpose.
But still it seems,
No matter what I do
I cannot truly capture you.
