Generic

no master 
no master of chiaroscuro 
i paint, in mellow sunbeams. 
twilight skies plunge downward 
interest wanes 
as does my light. 
my piece matures, 
no longer is it you. 
i stroke the oils slowly 
while no intent pilots my hand. 
color dries now in my brush 
easel to the wall, 
unable to abide the persona 
that inhabits the canvas. 
undesigned realism, 
disquieting features 
reflect torrents of anguish 
you impart to my soul. 
again, it is you 
but it is me. 
bound 
as matter of course. 
 
01-26-11 
© tlp 2011