I am the girl in the painting; I’m waiting

As I watch, captivated, the artist creating

And smile though I know that the work is frustrating —

But soft! Just think of the glory awaiting!

I am the girl of white stone, unknown

Until I was placed in the open and shown,

Sat atop a pedestal which served as my throne;

But though their eyes are upon me, I’m still so alone.

I am the girl on the page, encaged

By ink-stained papers, yellowed with age;

I beat on the doors of my prison, enraged,

While you sell my deeds and collect your dear wage.

I am the girl in the song — come along

As I lead you to joy despite all that seems wrong!

But under the surface, I’m not quite that strong;

I yearn for a home — for a place to belong.

I am the Muse for them all; at their call,

I flow through their words, make their sculptures stand tall,

I bring fame and glory, yet after it all,

I’m just an old tune… just some paint on the wall.