The Portrait

THE PORTRAIT A simple stolen moment's blessing, At rest, a portrait made in honesty. The maid frozen, in stances freeze, Is she, a silent expression, of an artist Hand, placed upon the canvas. Yielding, to the artistic vision, of it's Creator, the brush touches, the blank White sheet, on its easel stand. Imaginations muse, is set free, Released to splash, The spectrum's color array. Flesh tones, adds a softness, by a Shades light stroke. Ages wisdom, brings a quality of Realism into the eyes, of this ebony Lady, looking with a far off gaze. Toils troubles are for a split second Forgotten, just a stillness now exists, In a picture of silence, does she Recline at ease, Amongst the tools of her trade. Within this four sided squared Framed work of art, Has the slave achieved freedoms Liberation at last. In the hour glasses final hour, The painter lays down the brush, Smiling, looking upwards at The wonder of creation, Placed before her and marvels, At the figure in the portrait. In earthen simplicity, resides Within the face of this kitchen Maid, a humbleness, that Touches the artist’s inner spirit. Welcome to the world, my newest Friend of inspiration, proudly, The mistress of the brush, walks away. But the ebony lady is in no hurry, As she sits at rests easy, once More. The portrait hangs, on a museum Wall, for all posterity, To see the masters handy work. BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN