Oh if I were a painterA Poem by H.L. CerveiseOh if I were a painter.
Colors of the setting sun fade as the full moon rises over the lake. Slowly, it turns from a lovely orange to a blazing ivory as it ascends higher. I sit on the dock and drink a glass of wine as today's problems melt from my memory. The wine is like a juicy green apple on my tongue and lips. The moon plays peek a boo with some high thin wispy clouds.
Oh if I were a painter and could put on canvas the beauty of this scene! I would use ever so light brush strokes to paint the thin clouds surrounding the moon. Tenderly swish the brush to capture the light of the moon bouncing off and through those clouds. A brilliant hue to display the surface of the lake as the light reflects off the rippling waves. It is as if the entire wonder of this display was meant for me and only for me.
Ah, but a painter would be unsuccessful in painting the sounds. Brush strokes would be in vain at recreating the gentle sound of lapping waves. The water fowl making their soft sounds would be unheard. Oil paint would fail to capture the people's voices in the near distance. Their laughter as they enjoy the lake and the lake side fire.
A painter could not paint the smells of the lake or the wood smoke hanging in the air. The cold fragile wine glass in my hand would fall through the cracks in the paint. A canvas would not feel the soft cool breeze as it hits my face. My every muscle relaxes and I wonder how could that be shown? So I think, maybe it is good I am not a painter?
© 2016 H.L. CerveiseFeatured ReviewReviews
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5 Reviews Added on March 22, 2016 Last Updated on March 22, 2016 AuthorH.L. CerveisePenn Yan, NYAboutI am a computer consultant and creative writer. I should also tell you a number of my writings are inspired by on-line encounters I have in virtual worlds of various natures. Often these worlds spill .. more..Writing
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