The Word Cloud

Sarah L Hunt
5 11 2009

Eyes seen through eyes, tired and dismayed

Sieved through continual critical gaze

An artist turned artist on her own face.

Fund My Face, describes the drive

A website, a request, or a chance to hide

Her face holds tides of disappointment

And it shows not these but it is her own point

The view is held, which turns to validate

The face she sees through any milegate.

The movement of clouds across the sky

Is seen in daylight with an unkept eye

The light refraction, is given a distraction

To a night time focus of blue, black haze
Capturing reflections, on most of those days

Worth is master, withheld in proportion

Completely covered by life’s adoration

Some will receive in abundance thereof

Some will decline their portion and scoff

Ill-fitting a standard would rather push forward

Humility may direct, for shy is loathsome

Contrary neglect of what deems handsome

Usual judge of superficial themes

Changing forthright goodness into fading seams

The fabric is torn as some do mourn.

Truth is to some, as perception is to others

Glazing over, not accepting another

Who determines how we should look

An author, a writer, an ultimate book

Lest we forget how lovely is the Creator

The Artist’s face, is like no other

Created unique in pastel complexion

Simply is not void of vital expression

Consistently feeds with sad rejection

Her criticized, beautiful, living reflection


Sarah L Hunt
3 11 2009