posted 28th September 2024
She sat, looking straight ahead,
He looked down at her with a fearful heart,
This was his great chance.
His old brush pointing at the canvas,
A vision began to appear,
A sudden rush of creativity ran through his veins.
Her face was pale, her blue eyes full of radiant glamour.
His brush began to move, taking in her seismic features,
Playing with her very soul.
She was coming to life with every stroke,
A creation of beauty.
The artist was full of expression now,
She sat silent, waiting, longing,
Wanting to be seen.
The artist fell back onto the wooden floor,
She watched as he beat the hollow door.
His brush flowed over the canvas,
Blues, greens and strawberry blondes.
She sat, not moving anymore.
‘Finished’ the artist cried as he finally headed for the door.
She climbed to her feet and took the higher ground.
The painting was complete, a young girl bought to heavenly light,
Picture perfect under the falling sun.
She was alive, like she’d never been,
A part of history, forever lasting art.
