There isn’t a day that goes by that
I would stop believing in him, the immense
strength and determination soaring
in the seas of his brain, masterful diction
behind his bold lips, his dark-brown eyes
full of artistic creation and appreciation,
divine intelligence, definitive depths,
broad borders of flesh streaming in
sophistication and imagination.
His glistening body stepping into the light
of the universe, embracing the beautiful
scenery, feeling the magic that flowed
in the breeze across the green fields,
as he stands on the blossoming ground
facing his sparkly canvas and easel.
And as he painted away with his thin
brittle brush, the glossy paint making
music with the scenic surface, intense
brushstrokes coming alive, his jubilant
face concentrating in a wave of daylight,
his ears taking in the serene sounds
surrounding his existence, his hands
moving in circular motions, scratching
his cheeks as he stared at the magnificent
painting – how the array of hues blended
so perfectly with each other, how the brilliant
depiction of the landscape mirrored his own
existence.  And I would fall in love with every core
of his soul, watching from a distance in the
courtyard, cheering him on, wild waving
like a crazed fan in a crowded stadium, hoping
he’d see the expression in my existence,
and know that I would always be his bright
star guiding him along his way.