It is the smallest of windows
Wholly created, voluntarily accepted
Without a moment’s thought
Without a soul’s reflection
It is a single portrait viewing
The colors never fade, never change
Never adjust to the light
Still life in a perpetual state of fix
It is a changeless visage
Allows for only redundant interpretation
How oft can the brush stroke be dissected?
Countless opinions fight to death.
It is merely a pinhole picture
A finite vision carved from infinity
Chosen for its narrow path
Endorsed with eternal fear
It is a singular lens
Projected at grain of reality
Produces warped lines
Cages light in a prison
It is the smallest of windows
Wholly created, voluntarily accepted
Without a moment’s thought
Without a soul’s reflection
Frankie Wallace 
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