8 views
Subject to Change
You can take a withered brush,
Ink my canvas fibres
And shape my silhouette.
You always choose my colours,
When raw emotion darkens,
And cover me in red.
You can sweep each stroke
Of thorn, guide each broken bristle,
And place horns upon my head.
You can mire me in shadow,
Obscure features fair
And cast a web of heavy dread.
And while the artist paints her way,
Through fiction, fable, myth.
The subject moves as always
In a patterned, laboured gait.
I seek an honest portrait,
And so patiently, I wait.
© All Rights Reserved
Ink my canvas fibres
And shape my silhouette.
You always choose my colours,
When raw emotion darkens,
And cover me in red.
You can sweep each stroke
Of thorn, guide each broken bristle,
And place horns upon my head.
You can mire me in shadow,
Obscure features fair
And cast a web of heavy dread.
And while the artist paints her way,
Through fiction, fable, myth.
The subject moves as always
In a patterned, laboured gait.
I seek an honest portrait,
And so patiently, I wait.
© All Rights Reserved
Related Stories
