there she stood
poised like an animated fairy-tale
the bow of her lips quickened to quiver
failure; a call to reality
porcelain doll cheeks stroked with shades of red and tears
the very same as at the end of her brush,
she canted poisonous words like a dark chant
gross words, from such beautiful eyes
like knives at the canvas before where she stood

stains marred the ball shoes on the in-proportionate figure
an extravagant gown of scarlet torn to one side
revealing paint smears and mismatched feet
before the beauty she cried
bowed to knees at the sight
her elegant dress muddied , her perfect shoes stained,
her body all twisted

for how could she know?
It was a sin for her to cry
it was a shame for her knees to reach the ground
she bawled and pleaded- like a newborn hearing the tragedies of the world
the painters overalls slipping from her shoulders
brushes clattering to the ground
another masterpiece failed
another painting she would not sell
for how could she see?
she is a masterpiece herself
perfection finally reached
she cannot see, that she
is a masterpiece- at least to me.