Micropoetry
A poem
I watch as you observe me,
studying my features
meticulously painted centuries ago.
What stories do you see in my eyes,
my expression, the background that frames me?
If only I could step out from behind the canvas
and into your world for just a moment.
You cannot know what lies
behind these layers of aged oils,
the cracks that time has etched
across my surface,
the years spent propped in the corner
of the artist’s studio, the grief
when he passed before I was complete.
The generations that came and went
as I hung overlooked in a dark hallway.
Now here I remain under the museum lights,
colours faded, memories locked away.
I can only hope to transcend time
through eyes that look upon me,
and ponder the vision of the master
who rendered me in paints long ago.
For his passion lives on through me,
nameless and silent.