The Painting
The art gallery was deserted as I wandered the rooms,
Contemplating quietly alone and peacefulness was mine;
Stopping at a painting of a lone woman, I gazed at her face,
Eyes that looked sad, much like mine and as I looked, I wished.
She looked so heavenly but she wore her deep sadness,
I could feel her pain, O, if I could but step within the frame;
And in a blink, I was transported and was within the painting,
I looked out at myself, a girl with sad and fathomless seeking eyes.
My gown within the frame was quite lovely, soft and rich,
A forest green velvet creation with white lace peaking out;
I sat on a gilded chair and on my lap lay a white mink fur coat,
My hand stroked the fur in my sadness, it seems I was going outside.
Behind me was a window view of a frozen lake and stark trees,
Storm clouds gathering in the sky, I shivered, the year was 1817;
I felt elegant, my hair falling in waves, cascading down to my waist,
But the deep sadness within my soul was overwhelming, tears flowing.
And then I was a girl, so vintage in her style with sleek long hair,
Standing in the gallery, in front of the painting of the lonely woman;
Slowly, I walked slowly away but the sadness within my soul remained,
And I knew that forever this painting will always haunt my nightly dreams,
And my days . . .
_______________________________________
October 28, 2012
Poetry/Narrative/The Painting
Copyright Protected, ID 10-431-541-28
All Rights Reserved, 2012, Constance La France
Inspired by the painting Henriette Le Moine (1817)
Painted by Theophile Hamel
National Gallery of Canada
Submitted to the Standard contest, Story,
sponsor, Rob Carmack, Judged 11/2012
Fifth Place
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