A Portrait of Mr. Darcy

She dips the fine tip
Into greys and blacks and browns
Sweeps the brush across the canvas
Drawing a portrait
Of a man shrouded by his frown.

Lips part like stone, letting
Whispers of familial insults and
A proud proposal snake out
“He spoke of apprehension and anxiety
But his countenance expressed real security.”

She warms cheeks with crimson shades,
Coloring him with love and rage and shame,
Melting away the frozen face
Painting a portrait
Of a man shouldering so much blame.

“Mr. Darcy was condemned
As the worst of men”
His hands trembled as he wrote
Carefully revealing to his artist
The true colors of his portrait. So,

She
   drips
       drips
           drips
other gentle colors onto the page
smearing his heart with blue, bravely understated
flicking purple across his nose, elegantly proud
and dabbing pink across his lips, quietly passionate.