The Portrait

She wanted to paint his portrait, 

Collecting all her brushes 

She leered at the depths 

Of him and pondered 

How she could ever 

Translate him on a paper 

Instead, she mustered all the 

Colors of his aura, 

Studied every curve, and wrinkle 

She moved closer, 

She dipped her brush 

Into the paint, and tenderly 

Made the first brush stroke 

On his cheek, 

And began painting him 

With all the colors 

Blending themselves to create balance 

To show him how spirited 

And beautiful he was, 

She covered scars that he was 

Mortified of, 

And brought out the glimmer 

Of his green eyes 

The beauty of his hard working rough hands, 

The strength of his wide shoulders, 

Everything he was, 

Being metamorphosed, 

Brushstroke by brushstroke, 

When she was finished, 

She stood back 

And gazed at the transformation, 

How he held his head 

A little higher, 

A funny smile on his lips, 

She couldn't remember the last time 

She had seen happiness there 

She took him to the full-length mirror, 

And let him look at himself, 

"What will we do next time?" 

He asked 

She held him by the shoulders,

Smiled and said.........

"Start Again"