He approached the panel on which to create
a masterpiece to live on for centuries.
An image appeared. He began to stroke.
Fondling its impurities.
Channeled by the phantom of his mind’s eye,
Poetically brushing along the grains.
Passions danced across the wooden sheet,
to the quixotic spectrum of his pain.
Enamored and with tears, he stared
at a masterpiece yet created.
So much of himself put into the curves.
In this creation he became elated.
One meager glide with the tip of his wand.
Inspired by a vision, a woman.
Heavenly bold browns and elegant hues,
radiate sensual desires,
like that of a human.
Countless days came and went.
As he glowered, the more of himself he saw.
Although the work of art resembled her,
the person within wasn’t her, at all.
Jubilant over this remarkable vision,
He seen it to be all worthwhile,
To have painted a hidden portrait of himself…
Hidden behind Mona Lisa’s smile.