A Different Way Of Seeing

 

He watched as the man
Walked down the street
At a pace, and efficiently
And wondered for a brief second
How that would be

He had was not that man though
And he simply could not understand
How you ignore
Maybe not see
Life’s sweet glow

He marvelled
Each colour popped out
From reality’s canvas
Each blink framed a new portrait
All beautiful beyond doubt

The artist wandered how it must be
To see reality plain and empty
You could probably move quicker
And miss less trains
He said as into a smile his lips flickered

The hazard of being an artist
Though more than offset by the joys
The sound of a brush stroke
The smell of paint
The beauty of every moment

And as he missed another train
He saw a pigeon
Hunkered down framed by the rain
And knew
That no other way of seeing would do

Dave James Horn ©

 

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