New poem

Legacy


It was late in his life when he looked at a framed picture of a happy
family and looked twice.

He went one night, not alone, to the local art school’s museum,
looking at painted faces that were not quite perfect but could still
transmit a clear message that said “I am a young artist, and therefore
this is a fuzzy picture, but I will sharpen it, and I might be old
that day, but only then you will understand me.”

His eyes were caught by the picture’s confident stained wood that
elegantly, like a wise old couple, holding hands, dressed as best they
can, engaging their hands below the table, knowing love is twinkling
underneath, supported the beauty within.

He stared at that painting.

He had been sitting in front of it for nearly two hours.

He found it because there was a comfortable seat in front of it.

He wanted to rest his legs while she explored the museum with her mother.

He agreed to go the museum, saying to the women, “there is nothing for
me, but I will find a place to sit.”

A 72 year old man can say these things.

And he found a seat and watched the two women, one old, one young,
skip away into the museum.

That emerged as his life’s saddest moment: those closest to him skipping away to inspect art
and life while he labored to rest his legs.

But his saddest moment became his second saddest when he began to think.

A museum.

Young artists trying to capture life.

An old life, as such surrounded, too tired to walk around, look, and
look back.

He thought this situation might be one worthy of framing.

A moment in life.

He stared at the picture.

He thought of getting up, but he was too tired.

So he looked at the pictures and remembered.

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