A brief description of the contained and opressed faction of society. |
The girl is positioned on the floor The model, of whom she is so reminiscent Hurt her knees and thighs Even though a conveniently placed piece of silk Calms and soothes the painting Adding a dimension of peace and tranquility Seldom found in life. Her robe is draped serenely over her shoulder; Remaining as if by magic Her back is slightly arched, Bending over, leaning towards...something Her eyelids modestly lowered, Though her stare is anything but submissive Their attention has been bought by some anonomous object Her hand is extended, reaching...reaching Her wrist blends gently into a pudgy arm, Well cushioned with the fairest skin. The hand, so simple yet so perfect Fingers yearning, bending slightly What is it that she's reaching for? Perhaps it is the edge of the canvas Or maybe the frame, so that she can pry it loose And crawl out into the real world After all, she's never learned to walk She wants to be stripped away from the canvas, She doesn't realize it's not that simple Her sentiments have been the paints sentiments for centuries Would her lover let her leave him so? She's not content, she's not content She is the perfect picture of beautiful restlessness The epitome of idealistic fashion That's what art is Testimony to the desires spent in vain by man He'll never have them She is art, she is tragedy, she is hope And she is perpetually reaching life She dares to make the ultimate request And will be brutally ripped from her world one day |