Three lines laid
.

original poetry
and macro-photos
.
_ – . – _
 { @d-pend } 
– _ . _ –

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Three lines laid

^{____________________________________}

I.

Come up against a wall
of grit, of color, deathly pall:
a splattered line, a work abstract,
regathered fullness, dreaded lack,
effulgent self — and dire loss,
strange emptiness, brighter emboss
of expectations shattered, torn
from low estate to higher morn.

II.

In moment's pause am I newborn;
I reconsider the forlorn
and tragic elements of life,
for good, for ill, forever wife
of strange fullfillment in short being,
a few decades only seeing
the screenplay of sun arising new
and sky-fount soft bestowing dew
on surface strewn, experimenting
forms and figures, little denting
into the depths of awe unknown—
which cannot be found alone.

III.

I am a mural;
I have been painted,
somewhat pastoral,
unrealism-tainted.

Perhaps by the lens,
Perhaps by the mirror
do I see those sins:
a penitent jeerer
who jibes, makes amends,
an innocent leerer.

Stare like a child;
behold the harsh lines
and yet remain mild
in meas'ring the signs
of a passionate art,
of a thing truly made—
by a loftier heart
the pieces were laid.

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Original poetry and photos by Daniel Pendergraft
posted on-chain April 23, 2020.
.
[photos taken with iPhone 8+
using a 15x macro lens attachment.]

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