Impression

[Guest guest]

:-)

 

Impression

 

I write upon myself

and taste the tinge

of an axe

chopping me down.

Something dies.

Art is born.

The artist remains unseen,

 

invisible sun painting itself

in the shadows

of its escaping flames,

flames in whose company

there is no end to the canvas

and the hand that moves

the brush is,

ever so slightly

like a sleeping breath,

felt.

 

- Tykal