Upon the paper it is drawn
But never as beautiful
As my eye sees.
No stroke
Nor brush
Could make the image
What it is in flesh,
Or in my mind.
To me it is perfection
In every sense that the words holds.
I’ve found serenity
In this face
That keeps me sound in my sleep,
And alive in my dreams.
Every stroke of the pencil
Makes you that much closer
To being within the touch of my hand.
And until that time is present
I will close my eyes
and wait for my muse.
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Submission Name: Sketches
