Ramblings from the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia

Self Portrait II

A dash of vibrant color, or some inner spark
Flows to the canvas from my broken heart.
Should I follow up my varicolored plastic dreams—
Knowing some more drab, more realistic, might never be seen?
What is the exact hue of the legacy
That I will leave on this canvas—left behind me?
Borrowed crimson emotions, aquamarine tears,
A bit of deep jet shadow here and there—
Golden glow of hope, cornflower blue cold loneliness—
How stark they seem upon virgin canvas,
So I step back to take another glace.
But the figure is forever burned upon my retinas—
Anyway—the painter cannot change that which has passed…
I let a little faint half-smile touch the face,
As I paint the final details into their place—
And he stares at me from this canvas made from words:
The image floats before me in the colors and the imagery of my own words:
Hello, world—
Surprise! It’s only me…

Raven Darkendale
© 4/6/05
(Raven Darkendale is a pseudonym of the man known as Pendragon)