The Truth in Love

I draw from memory, with sticks of charcoal, which smudges like the dickens! The figure has the messy edges of your ordinary unfinished sketch, work-in-progress, might-never-be-finished

Angel just means messenger and

We mortals are

from dust, and dust return,

Until such piercing Light

Outshines all

That came before.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s