The h2g2 Poem
Created | Updated Dec 3, 2008
Young Artist
Grey clouds muffle the city,
Leech the colour from the sunlight,
Purifying it.
As severely angled light trickles through the window,
Everything simplifies,
Planes of light and dark.
White light hits the sofa, his guitar, and him
Straddling the coffee table, working on a drawing.
He curves over the page, arms on either side;
He cradles it between his knees, protected.
The curves of his back, his shoulders
Catch the slanting light,
The smooth skin reflects it
Like a new leaf in spring.
His strong, knobbly hand
Clasps a tiny stick of reddish pastel,
Coaxes colour onto grey paper
To blend smoothly with yellow already there.
He chooses white,
Wipes off the residue from the others in the box,
Ever so gently.
He teases life from the dead wood and dust he employs.
His straw hair dangles before his face.
His breath stirs it with a regular rhythm.
Mouth open slightly, he concentrates.
Blue-green eyes burn with focused intensity.
He is so young, and so devoted to this
Labour of love.
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