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    dots Submission Name: The Weaving of Her Canvasdots

    Author: col13x
    Elite Ratio:    2.26 - 119/300/559
    Words: 349
    Class/Type: Poetry/BrokenHeart
    Total Views: 627
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2254


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsThe Weaving of Her Canvasdots

    She is a perfectly crafted portrait
    The canvas nuisance of her skin
    The collected sense of sensualness
    In every lines convergence of her curving

    And as the sun played with its fingers
    Through the shadow dancing of the trees
    Her feet upon their high heels
    Staccato castanets upon the pavements
    Waltzing with the loveliness
    Of her flamenco with the breeze

    So many eyes were lifted from the aged sighs of coffee cups
    This passing reminder of admiration
    Watching the floating calico
    That hung within their vision
    And so many men were left to wonder
    On the naked sanctuary
    Of this woman

    The taste she could bequeath
    With the succulent whisper of her lips
    And the shuddering sigh she would utter
    As they lay there
    Between her legs

    Like unrepentant diamond
    With all the promise of a snow flake
    This fantasy as she passed them
    Gave no clue to the preparation
    And of her made up person
    She gave no hint

    She was hidden behind the brushwork
    The portraiture powder, gloss and tint
    And the presence of her kisses
    Were wiped away in the colour of her lipstick

    No one saw the tiny woman
    Wishing she knew how to be
    More than this, the fashionable enhancements
    Of her eyes, her legs, her hair and breasts
    No one knew the pattern of the slave trade
    Sown with iron into the lining
    Of her dress

    And no one heard the weeping woman
    As her soul went slowly gliding by
    And no one knew how she was asking them
    For an answer to the question
    Am I anyone
    Am I nothing more
    Than this

    Still, she was held in the curse of beauty
    Turning everything she is into property
    To be nothing more than a trophy
    Pinned to the wall of the wealthiest

    No one could hear the silence
    Or see the sadness in the mirror of her eyes
    And no one paid attention to the stitches
    Running through the weaving of her canvas

    Submitted on 2011-06-09 08:50:52     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      Still more proof that we are much more than these earthly vessels. I am a firm believer in the truth in advertising. Sometimes we all are victoms.
    | Posted on 2012-05-25 00:00:00 | by delusional | [ Reply to This ]
      Beautiful and with a gentle touch of surrealism :)

    Nicely penned!

    | Posted on 2011-08-02 00:00:00 | by AltheaLaochra | [ Reply to This ]
      What a sad picture of longing, wanting to be loved for herself and not just the outward apperance.
    I recall the song where a trucker fell in love with a picture of a girl on a billboard. His longing to see what was concealed behind the beach towel she wore, to see the whole beauty of her, but love can be like that, unsure and fickle, never finding the true meaning of love and life.

    a very good poem
    | Posted on 2011-06-09 00:00:00 | by DUSTYTU | [ Reply to This ]

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