The Women Come and Go…
Once, one cold autumn night,
I met a girl, singing softly, gently
As she walked abreast of the park;
The leaves crinkling under foot.
A sad song; the words seemed to tilt
Like the blue beret upon her head.
No surprise there: an art student,
With a name that escapes me now,
So long since those final notes.
With a soft smile she drew me in,
A blank canvas: infinite potential.
Words exchanged; no real purpose,
Under that cloudless, starry night.
Picasso, Van Gogh, Michelangelo:
Names that trickled off the tongue,
As I tried to hide my ignorance:
Literature was my real love.
Time: suspended, as our footsteps
Echoed in the light of the pale moon.
A history, painted in broad strokes;
So difficult to capture a single moment.
One solitary shot, as the trees rustle
Overhead, and I peer back longingly,
Through life’s polarising lens.