YOUNG WOMAN DRAWING
The young lady is frazzled.
Feathering, scumbling, glazing
And still
Nothing.
She hasn't moved in a while
And her dress is slowly beginning to take form of the chair she sits on.
Her back is bent over like that of a grieving widow
And her hand withdrawn from the painting
As if to take a break from the constant fight to create
Something.
And the window—
The window.
Broken with an obvious intent.
A hastily created passageway for inspiration to flow in from the outside world.
And standing there in the passageway are the two muses;
Giddy in love and oblivious to our character's strife.
And she looks to us with those heavy blue eyes
As if to seek approval.
Asking us if this is finally the work of art she's been looking for.
YOU ARE READING
The Air I Breathed in That Morning
PoésieI'm not a poet. I'm not really a writer. But I decided the little things I write shouldn't go unnoticed. I hope you get to see a little bit about another individual you've probably never met. Leave a comment. It's nice when people appreciate the lit...
