The Artist

For G

The Artist

(an acrostic)

by Erin L George

 

Greatness reaches; not in the twinkling where a martyr gambles verve

And scopes for the spirit (burnt within a blaze) settling on ghostly might

Rising now from below the twisted storm; He grasps solely blind.

Yet he sees (bowing on headlines) torn from eyes, flashing red.

 

Dabbled in his autograph; he’d retreat where greatness growls to masses

Rolling salty down his lips (made a perfect shape) swallowing his sigh

Etched in arms cut on sweat’s ever-cooling grace: He craves wholly time.

Where he’d look away (patient sacrifice) clearly seen, blinking green.