when she sat like a rock.
Where her eyes dulled
like shallow pools,
he gave them a radiation
that would make the sun turn green.
Her figure was lacking,
one could compare to a matchstick.
He ignited her form and
made her beauty blaze off the canvas.
A face only a mother could love,
if she had been drinking.
With the tip of his brush,
he gave it an appealing nectar.
A smile that could launch
a thousand ships;
hurrying the other way.
He gave it that glow
that made all men obey.
As his paints brought
life to the lifeless, she frowned
when he was done.
in her mind everything
he painted wasn’t the real her.
He smiled and told her,
“A artist always paints a lie,
in order to show the truth.”






Great use of metaphor and imagery.
Peace always, xx Cyn 










The imagery is clear and the message within strong. An excellent write hunni! All the best in your contest 
38 old applause
