Hands steady,
fingers pulsed for the right moment,
as a possibility peers through the glass,
and into the eye,
it pierces the mind.
Visuals and other fortunate necessities,
pave the road to captivating abilities.
Transcendence in the ordinary,
proves the lens can rarely lie.
The pupil behind the zoom,
the flesh behind the pen,
the man behind the mask,
the stranger behind the voice,
it speaks,
and it speaks for itself.

We can only listen...

While hoping to earn the slightest amount of what assembles it.
Tasting the sweat,
smelling the blood, 
and feeling that pulse which kindles it all.

Nothing more,
and possibly nothing less.
Leading us to esteem our own rhythm, 
the image will transgress...