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David Ahlman


There is a parable in Ancient times that speaks of a Master in search of a child
To portray in his painting God's perfect son,
But during his searching, he found only one.

The young lad's skin was fair and white, his eyes were bright, striking, and blue.
The Master had discovered his Christ to picture
And mimicked his face, his eyes, and stature.

When the Master was finished, he put down his brush; the child departed, never to be seen again.
Yet, his piece incomplete had one thing bereft:
It needed the devil standing at God's left.

A face so vile and akin with death to be a model of the devil for him,
But during his seeking the Master struggled to find
Over a decades of years a face of that kind.

Until one fateful day, plagued and lame, the Master found the man with Lucifer's face.
He begged the beggar to follow him home,
And to stand as the villain of mankind like stone.

The beggar's flesh was dirty, his eyes were pale, the bones of his skull poked out skeletal,
His complexion was ghastly and easy to place
Upon the canvas in its empty space.

When his strokes last ceased and brush withdrew, the Master then knew his piece was through,
But when he looked up, he saw through new light
The beggar's eyes turn to the blue of ice.

As tears poured down the beggars face, the rains peeled away the black from his cheeks.
His posture next straightened and the beggar then asked,
"Don't you remember me from the past? "

The Master surprised realized the truth—this beggar was the Christ child he painted in youth.
Thus, the world changes men once pure to dirt,
But the world has no power in men's rebirth.

Submitted: Friday, June 13, 2014

Topic of this poem: art

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