Thursday, December 15, 2011

Not without a Hint

Nothing new,
Just a pigment of dust
In the patina of an old alloy rust...
It isn't dust,really;
More like a smudge...
Writ with fingerprints,
A thumb rule of reminiscence.

As the eyes bore into their meaning,
Their origin and its sin,
Pockmarked,enervated,never mind...
A dextrous hand and brush will paint out
The lies and truth that was.
A hidden vestige of faith reclaimed
In a leftover dust, a facsimile, the evidence,
For him to start believing again...
That the one sought is gone, but not without a hint.

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