Painting you like no one has ever painted a French girl before

Out of the dark, from the last shrouds of the night,
I saw the Sun putting a brave fight.
The world shines in the light.

Runaways of the clouds of the night – the stars
fell from their grace, making silvery scars.
Jewels combusted to chars.

Out of orb of gold, which burns the sky warm,
prismatic arches build the norm.
Pallet of photons, the swarm.

The frame of the picture is set.
Colours – there; a brush is wet,
and everything is now set
but One to be painted is missing yet.

Out of the solid body of the Mother, life grows.
Sometimes protected when it snows.
A hidden beauty no one knows.

Runaways of the clouds of the moisture may
wash ‘n’ wash the face of that clay.
The beauty so marry and gay.

Outside of the blades of grass, gift bestowed
is upon us. It cannot be showed,
but it is used to sing an ode.

The One is painted on canvas,
but there is no need for a fuss,
for love is embedded in canvas,
and now it needs not any plus.

Out of thought, time and days of the Creation,
He made it happen, that perfection.
She rose from an old ocean.

Runaways of the clouds of the emotion come.
Impulses ‘n’ heart aches make me numb,
thus creating an atmosphere of glum.

Out of the brush, the final touches are now done.
My love among the colours of golden sun.
Still, but alive, she cannot be won.

Distant in the painting, like she is in reality,
we are the total opposites – the land and sea.
Although I wish we were together in this reality,
It’s best to love from the distance; let her be free.

Paint me...

Picture: James Cameron’s Titanic

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