The Artist

© Jean-François de Le Motte Still Life

In love’s first fresh bloom
her letters were fragrant
from her favourite perfume

sealed with wax against
prying eyes, lest they
read of her deepest desire.

She was Helen to his
ardent Paris
long after she’d ended
their illicit affair
he cannot let her go.

He paints her in cameo
along with lists and
book of Troy they once shared
with hurried scribbles
on paper scraps she then sent
but they are all things that matter
because it’s still life and
this, he treats as
his altar.

He paints it all upon canvas
until satisfied
her words are now immortal.


©  Daydreamertoo              *All rights reserved

Shared with Magpie Tales #121


His body still trembled after that
much too close brush with death.
The moon’s bright corona afforded
enough light for him now to slowly
crawl out from the shadows.

He may never see the weeping willow
or the river he loved by his
small cottage again
but for now,
at least he was still alive.

After being dragged through the mud
beaten and covered in blood
this night would leave a stain
on his memory forever.

On his hands and knees
he broke more than one nail
on the unforgiving sharp edged stones
as he finally reached the tops of the bluffs
where, far below
the pirates vessels were
being made ready to set sail.


© Daydreamertoo        *All rights reserved

This is fiction loosely based on two novels by Robert Louis Stevenson the author of Kidnapped and of course the very famous pirate tale Treasure Island

Shared with The Sunday whirl #60