I Saw The Painter's Eyes Poem by Patti Masterman

I saw the painter's eyes:
Peering out the small frame
In still life; the sighs were inaudible
Only I have a few of the words he left
Scattered around, some poems from a diary;
My book, of his days
A book of life abandoned.

His world, the rocky shoreline
Of dangerous currents, deep chasms
Bordered by his ocean of solitary awareness
Waking endlessly; praying for sleep
His weary life sleep walks through his mind
Thin peace mixed into grueling days
The eye of an artist; the soul of a dreamer.

In him, you would have been blinded by beauty
His brilliance never to be possessed by anyone;
He springs the locks and goes
Looking for the lost life, to paint it into existence again
If he could find it once;
His diamond-cache of grief shining at times, inside his black eyes..

And had he ever looked at you, it would wound you;
Wound you, in your great simpleness-
But he could never hurt anyone;
He keeps his watch over shifting waves and mind storms,
Sheathes them tightly behind his canvas
But he turns to stone each night inside the mirror
And another ghost haunts the pier.