The Duchess Within

At first there was void… and peace. Then everything changed as her hands carefully, but surely, pulled me away from my spiritual refuge. Gradually dissolving from the immaterial world, my soul re-emerged within the frame of a mere painting as the excellence of Frà Pandolf concluded the opus. Woefully, and ironically, it was crafted with such precision and detail that it seemingly had a quiet life of its own:

And here I am, on the wall,
desperately and hopelessly reaching out
for the gentleman sitting there in admiration,
accompanied by my former spouse
and filled with the lies obviated by the tender smile
that I am forever compelled to uphold.

For is it not wrong when a wretched heart
is coerced to love a man
and submit to his bidding,
yet her mind is only concerned
with the thoughts of a tenuous child?
Is she to blame for returning a covetous gaze
with an uneasy smile,
or expose herself to a pitiless coward
who would stoop in front of her lord
only to stab his back in the next?
Is it not a lie when a husband is blind
and earnestly due,
but his wife is deprived of the right to breathe?

With silent cries and tears of drought,
I am still here, imprisoned
and beseeching for someone to forever close the curtains
and let the darkness devour me anew.