Beautiful Restlesness

The girl is positioned on the floor
The model, of whom she is so reminiscent
Hurt her knees and thighs
Even though a conveniently placed piece of silk
Calms and soothes the painting
Adding a dimension of peace and tranquility
Seldom found in life.
Her robe is draped serenely over her shoulder;
Remaining as if by magic
Her back is slightly arched,
Bending over, leaning towards...something
Her eyelids modestly lowered,
Though her stare is anything but submissive
Their attention has been bought by some anonomous object
Her hand is extended, reaching...reaching
Her wrist blends gently into a pudgy arm,
Well cushioned with the fairest skin.
The hand, so simple yet so perfect
Fingers yearning, bending slightly
What is it that she's reaching for?
Perhaps it is the edge of the canvas
Or maybe the frame, so that she can pry it loose
And crawl out into the real world
After all, she's never learned to walk
She wants to be stripped away from the canvas,
She doesn't realize it's not that simple
Her sentiments have been the paints sentiments for centuries
Would her lover let her leave him so?
She's not content, she's not content
She is the perfect picture of beautiful restlessness
The epitome of idealistic fashion
That's what art is
Testimony to the desires spent in vain by man
He'll never have them
She is art, she is tragedy, she is hope
And she is perpetually reaching life
She dares to make the ultimate request
And will be brutally ripped from her world one day