(Based on a pen and ink rendering by Patrick Harsch)
I see the warrior
in a split second of his life.
The careful portraiture of photons.
The razor’s edge of time.
The moment of a heartbeat.
His face etched with the moons
and seasons.
The artist with careful passion
shows the circumference of his soul.
The asylum of an unspoiled world
in his eyes.
There is a man, human inside that gaze.
The fast forward of a natural child.
A dignity of triumph and suffering.
There is a voice in his presence
saying, I have let
the rain dry in my hair.
Been cold in my sleep.
Watched my family grow
with stoic tenderness,
and told the heavens,
be what you are.
I have loved the great spirit.
And hearing, I pause
with envy and admiration.
He is not a picture
that dies every instant it lives,
but his life’s relentless determination
and nobility.
A shadow in the light,
on the world’s edge.