The mist draws back again,
The mystic face, a mask?, a friend?
The Dove, the care, tenderness.
Jewels sparkle in her light
So sees that eye of inner sight.
Balance is the play, the life,
The timeless journey without end.
The mystic face, a mask?, a friend?
The peace of quiet, inner calm,
Aware of silence moving on,
How far must we have come?
To water, fire, earth and air,
Those elements of mortal blend
The mystic face, a mask?, a friend?
Michael Bossom (copyright 1998)
Encaustic Waxes onto primed linen on masonite
Original size 5" x 7.5"
