OpusA Poem by NevilleOpus According
to some as yet un-writ universal law She was
to be his opus A final
masterpiece, without a single flaw .. Each subtle
stroke each
shutter click, each eye lash and golden wisp of
hair Was each
and every one of them a stroke of genius to
be fair .. He, though
was more than modest and
wasted not one
single drop of ink, nor daub of paint, or word Since
she was meant to be
in his eyes perfect, with no blemish, graze, stain
or bruise .. And
should she ever bleed, it was the gods themselves
decreed It must surely be, from a single perfect open wound, The
like of which, all men do dream .. and so,
for four and one half years he laboured Every single day and night, he toiled .. oft foregoing nourishment
and sleep .. Until
that is, he lost his mind and sight to her for gazing far too
long and hard and deep upon her nakedness
as was, Now draped and seemingly resplendent in a borrowed flaxen shawl .. and held
there pinned against the sudden unexpected backdrop of an elsewise empty canvass .. Carelessly
gathering dust like that in a corner of some long forgotten artist’s studio apartment Not a
million miles away from Plaza Trastevere .. © 2021 NevilleFeatured Review
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4 Reviews Added on July 20, 2021 Last Updated on July 21, 2021 |

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