A Fantasia / Aphantasia
Born with a veil draped eternal over my eyes, To shimmering visions of sun or clouds I rise. And though colorless, my hills and valleys, To rescue me from the blackness, my senses rally. ‘Tis his face though, that I conjure up the most, For he’s the beacon of light in my dark, dark world. Eludes me still, how I fell for him, being unromantic; I guess it was his crystal clear thought, that clicked. Subjectivist, high on emotions, in my art, I go; For my objectivist, will find me, if I get lost doing so. When these hands tumultuously attack the canvas, He bestirs them, slicing through my soul’s fuss. Mistake him not for being icy though, my friend! For his passion emerges in words from his pen. Though I wish, his exactitude would tone down somehow, A fantasia, the only one, I have nursed for some time now. *** Think of a face you love, what do you see? A flurry of countenances would occur to thee. I know they’re not there, but you see them lifelike; I