The Portrait
The Portrait
She wanted to paint his portrait,
Collecting all her brushes
She leered at the depths
Of him and pondered
How she could ever
Translate him on a paper
Instead, she mustered all the
Colors of his aura,
Studied every curve, and wrinkle
She moved closer,
She dipped her brush
Into the paint, and tenderly
Made the first brush stroke
On his cheek,
And began painting him
With all the colors
Blending themselves to create balance
To show him how spirited
And beautiful he was,
She covered scars that he was
Mortified of,
And brought out the glimmer
Of his green eyes
The beauty of his hard working rough hands,
The strength of his wide shoulders,
Everything he was,
Being metamorphosed,
Brushstroke by brushstroke,
When she was finished,
She stood back
And gazed at the transformation,
How he held his head
A little higher,
A funny smile on his lips,
She couldn't remember the last time
She had seen happiness there
She took him to the full-length mirror,
And let him look at himself,
"What will we do next time?"
He asked
She held him by the shoulders,
Smiled and said.........
"Start Again"