Cavernous rooms crammed with dark shapes…
But the eye follows the passing of a servant girl’s white cap…
Outside…
Craggy, dark-textured walls…
Sighing tones of dry biscuit…
Eternal midnights and old wines…
But always…
Somewhere…
A stream of light…
Jagged cries of a child from afar…
Grating bustles of a large kitchen at work…
Whispered servants’ secrets…
But the eyes see only a painting…
Images welded in time…
The peace of still life…
The calming touch of light…
Dark canal waters…bright flames…
Ragged outlines shuffle in a dim street…
Gathering quietly like moths…
Drawn instinctively to the flickering candlelights…
Silhouetted
In tall, foggy window frames…
The artist’s studio…
Filtered lights languish on
Aging colours
Of woods…cloths and papers…
The window is open…
The artist stands quietly by the servant girl…
Waves of chestnut brown hair resting gently on a white, soft-sleeved shirt…
Dark brown eyes…just a little higher
Than the luminous eyes of the white-capped servant girl…
Two artists…
Sharing the sky as one…
The clouds…the colour?
White is the immediate answer…
And then…the answer from the soul…
Yellow…blue…grey…
Not white…
And the servant girl’s cap is laid to rest
For brief and stolen dreams…
Exchanged for a bright wide headband
Of vibrant, electric blue…
For a little while in time…
Borrowed time…
Made time…
They mixed the world in colour…
She was his melody…
He tuned her soul…
And she dared to move a studio chair…
Dared to voice the secret…
She looked trapped…
She needed more light…
New light…
If I clean the windows the light may change…
Rather…
The chair must move…
The great moment had to be…
The moment when a little blood fell…
A tiny sacrifice for a single pearl…
Welded in time…
Moistened lips…
Eyes of glistening white light…
The face of a servant girl…
Framed in an electric-blue headband…
Touched with a single pearl tear-drop…
Slightly turned to her artist…
But the eye follows the passing of a servant girl’s white cap…
Outside…
Craggy, dark-textured walls…
Sighing tones of dry biscuit…
Eternal midnights and old wines…
But always…
Somewhere…
A stream of light…
Jagged cries of a child from afar…
Grating bustles of a large kitchen at work…
Whispered servants’ secrets…
But the eyes see only a painting…
Images welded in time…
The peace of still life…
The calming touch of light…
Dark canal waters…bright flames…
Ragged outlines shuffle in a dim street…
Gathering quietly like moths…
Drawn instinctively to the flickering candlelights…
Silhouetted
In tall, foggy window frames…
The artist’s studio…
Filtered lights languish on
Aging colours
Of woods…cloths and papers…
The window is open…
The artist stands quietly by the servant girl…
Waves of chestnut brown hair resting gently on a white, soft-sleeved shirt…
Dark brown eyes…just a little higher
Than the luminous eyes of the white-capped servant girl…
Two artists…
Sharing the sky as one…
The clouds…the colour?
White is the immediate answer…
And then…the answer from the soul…
Yellow…blue…grey…
Not white…
And the servant girl’s cap is laid to rest
For brief and stolen dreams…
Exchanged for a bright wide headband
Of vibrant, electric blue…
For a little while in time…
Borrowed time…
Made time…
They mixed the world in colour…
She was his melody…
He tuned her soul…
And she dared to move a studio chair…
Dared to voice the secret…
She looked trapped…
She needed more light…
New light…
If I clean the windows the light may change…
Rather…
The chair must move…
The great moment had to be…
The moment when a little blood fell…
A tiny sacrifice for a single pearl…
Welded in time…
Moistened lips…
Eyes of glistening white light…
The face of a servant girl…
Framed in an electric-blue headband…
Touched with a single pearl tear-drop…
Slightly turned to her artist…
2 comments:
a comment to that piece of work.....speechless...
Have A Dynamic Day!
Gorgeous! I read your words and I am transported. My favorite line: "She was his melody, He tuned her soul."
Marvelous gift...to take others on a journey with you through your words.
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