Unhung, the painting
lies there on the table,
pregnantly waiting for its
completion.
For it is incomplete.
Face down, no eye
can see if it is beautiful,
ugly, vibrant, or plain.
Will it be forever unseen?
Or will fingers eventually
pry the frame from that
surface
(intended as a place
of physical nourishment,
but relegated to being
a storage depot)
and emblazon this
artwork where
it can be seen,
appreciated, accepted
for the inspiration it
offers, and simultaneously
free
the table to its
rightful place as
holder of the
bowl of sustenance?
~ spontaneously composed by Stan Stewart
~ poem and photograph: copyright © 2013 by muz4now, inc.