Blank Paige

Her hair shines in the incandescent light.
A big, bright bow illuminating childhood. 
The precious innocence of a life yet lived. 
Free of the calloused marks of self doubt. 
From wounds prior, levied upon ones self. 
She colors the clean page, each stroke unique. 
Dancing across the sheet in a perfect chaos. 
Her lips loosely clenched with eyes open wide. 
As she brings life to what she knows inside. 
Freckles, eyelashes, twinkling eyes of youth. 
Nose crinkled, pink gloves, a posture like mom. 
It is clear that which she works to become. 
Moments, moments, so precious, so pure. 
I want to always remember them perfectly. 
Like her blank paper, this is how it must be.  
A single perfect stroke of color, lost in the art. 
Try to capture as I may, lost it is meant to be. 
Lost perfectly in the great artist's masterpiece. 
Lost in pale contrast to beauties next stroke. 
I caught the moment too often missed. 
The simple stroke too soon forgotten. 
Like a great sentence is lost in a book. 
Like a great song heard the first time. 
Perhaps, if I may be so bold to proclaim. 
The gift is to know by perfect accident.
Beauty is not the absence of imperfection.
But rather the reflection found within it.
Taking freedom from our harshest critic  
And fill our blank page, stroke by stroke
 
Nick Campos 2023


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