Fragments of Love & Death

Death and the Muse

A canvas holds beauty captured for eternity;
A living face fades in time’s shadow.
The muse knows the hand that once painted no other
Betrays her daily with younger flesh.
She knows what he paints of her now
Is just a memorial to her beauty’s death,
Each stroke of sable brush is nostalgia.
She wishes she could burn and rise like a phoenix
A blazing new life from cold ashes, but
Beauty must fade as the mirror cracks
And the muse not the Art must die.