Kinda OOC I know I just wrote this on impulse (and the drug of sleep deprivation). It just seemed like how he would come across if he was trying to. Hope you enjoy?
An old wooden crate balanced precariously on the uneven pavement.
Two feet planted firmly on the aged planks. Showing no sign of unsurety, in perfect balance on the rickety surface.
Arms outstretched, drawing images on a canvas of air, his hands finely shaped brushes, the imagination of the audience all the paint he needs.
Creating a whole new world around those watching him, a black hole so fascinating, mysterious and irresistible.
Without rhyme or reason his voice pulls in all who hear him. fights are forgotten, wars could stop. None would know nor care.
Regardless of age, sex or race his magic seeps into their soul.
His straight poud shoulders denying any doubts.
His face determined and earnest, the picture of his soul.
Though not a face one would call innocent or open, the power and conviction of his words; the intensity of his eyes made that none could doubt him.
Somewhere in the world, in a town, in a park, on an old wooden crate, the sun shimmering off his dark curls, one man has stopped time.
In this void of beauty no hate or greed exist.
I watch in awe as this single man makes those around him open their eyes and look, not just see, talk, not just speak.
Make people believe, in the power of one.
Yer I don't know, reviews REALLY appreciated on this one, thanks!