I was reading a poem of Stella’s and thinking of a reply. Some of Stella’s poetry can be a bit on the blue side (tastefully, of course) …. so you have been warned.
Anyway …. my mind followed a path of wondering how someone captured on canvas might feel. I think that it must be a bit frustrating to be frozen in time by those that love you – something of a mixed blessing.
As it happens there is a painting of my own father during his last years right here on the wall at home and I get the impression sometimes that he’s none too pleased about it. He had a full and interesting life – but he would have wanted more.
This is what came out, and I hope Stella will forgive me for reusing it.
An artist paints me in the past
Deep etchings in my skin
The lines of age conceal the rage
That flows like blood within
A replica upon the page
Denies the will to live
Let me explore this world some more
I still have more to give
Let her see me as I am
Let her call my name
Let me escape this prison
Within the picture frame