BRANT KINGMAN
by
Christopher Holt

Once upon a timeless time,
I stood beside a friend of mine,
Who narrowed his eyes to a focus of light,
And went wild as he felt his mind ignite.

His startling vision had pierced the curtain,
And all at once he'd seen for certain
What hence was to be his sole direction:
Through the unfolding doors of perception.

Instantly he began to express and pursue
The thrilling knowledge that had come in view;
And in that instant an artist was born,
Determined to keep pace with the first light of morn.

Concentration became his creed,
And clarity his compelling need;
Weakness and distraction he devoutly spurned,
Intent on furthering all he'd learned.

Intensity of being became his mode,
And acuity of seeing his constant lode;
Faster and faster he spurred his desire,
Scaling a peak which was ever higher.

The work of his hands imaged his mind,
Charged with an energy rare to find;
Drawing after drawing emerged form his page,
Revealing a talent only time will gauge.

Years now he's been on his quest,
And I've receded like all the rest.
Personally this had caused me some rue,
But as an artist I must give him his due:
From him I've learned to see more too.

More power to him is now how I feel;
He's living a life that's keen and for real.
My life is different, but where'er I go
I remember his urging to know what I know.

Copyright 1979 by Christopher Holt