Your face - so young
So beautiful to me
It catches my eye
Seducing me to return
To see it - to know it
Yet I don't know 'you'
I have never met you
Perhaps I never will
Your pretty left eye - Its pretty left eye
Your dark hair - Its dark hair
How that eye holds me
With its gaze averted
Your scarf - of biege
So tenderly wrapped
I can feel its warmth
Yet I've never touched it
Your portrait - a masterpiece
Yet it is not 'you'
We must face that fact together
As exhibitionist and voyeur
It's not paper - it's not paint
For when I leave this room
I'll ever still see 'it'
Not paper, paint or you
It exists - you exist
I exist also
You created the portrait
But what created me?
I turn - I leave
With one last look I think
I do not know her, but she
Should be proud of what she's done.
- Author: dbremner ( Offline)
- Published: February 7th, 2011 16:35
- Comment from author about the poem: So on Saturday afternoon I went to see the local high school art exhibition. One of the self portraits stuck out for me and yet again I remain wondering about existence. If I cannot erase the picture from my mind then what is it? I cannot carry paint, paper or even someone whom I have never met around with me so what is that portrait?
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 54
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy, Emi
Comments2
mesmerized?.
The portrait is an image momentarily(?) indelibly etched in your mind's eye, having caught and retained your fancy, titillating your imagination for a time.....like so many things unwittingly do. And so many moments in living are thus without a camera etched forever in our mind's eye and gallery, which cameras, paper and ink/paint may never capture. In this instance, however, the artist did succeed at creating a vivid, though vain, image in the admiring viewer. Your tribute to it is excellent, especially combined with your explanatory "author's comment." I liked it very well.
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