Rose ~ pen and ink
Flower of Freya ~ Pen and Ink
The Pointillist
In the gathering indigo of evening
at the twilight of the day,
as ghosts of blue smoke be rising
from chimeys red and grey,
an ink-besmeared drawing board,
testament to lonely nights
of labor-intense endeavors
where his patient work is wrought.
The small key rolls the tumblers
of an oiled, aged lock
that opens the door to stillness.
He feels for the light switch
to vanquish the dark.
Alchemist of the stipple-pen
in his black kitchen of art,
pursuing the endless journey
from ink to pen to dot.
His hair now streaked with silver,
Myopia dims his sight.
His years in dots are measured,
subtracting from his life...
In the gathering indigo of evening
at the twilight of the day,
as ghosts of blue smoke be rising
from chimeys red and grey,
an ink-besmeared drawing board,
testament to lonely nights
of labor-intense endeavors
where his patient work is wrought.
The small key rolls the tumblers
of an oiled, aged lock
that opens the door to stillness.
He feels for the light switch
to vanquish the dark.
Alchemist of the stipple-pen
in his black kitchen of art,
pursuing the endless journey
from ink to pen to dot.
His hair now streaked with silver,
Myopia dims his sight.
His years in dots are measured,
subtracting from his life...
more wonders here at the Red Salon
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