The Potrait

A Portrait first made,
Shed tears for breath,
Maker, your smile,
Lost somehow now betrayed.
A portrait just dressed,
Coloured firm and fresh;
Maker you know the soul,
And the layout behind that;
Haggard and blown,
In that weary robe,
A steed, never she rode,
What’s inside that abode?
The horse now stabled,
And the picture framed,
Visitors today, through those pristine doors,
Painter – you strive for more;
Would you bargain me the right?
To kiss her brows,
Would you let me to the door?
Slammed behind in the past,
I can see your eyes,
With fertile blood,
And blended folks;
Oh! I am lost at the sight,
Few more nights,
Day makes only lights.
A portrait in my hallucinogenic flight,
Peaceful and glowing bright;
What I longed for!?
Now stripped to pieces - The war!
Lifeless – beats no more – too far!
Persevered in the vortex of encumbers;
Lifeless Chambers!
Would you swallow?
Passers-by once more,
The wrecked portrait,
Retailed to your fortune;
Spoiled brat, you smile,
Through the frame,
But who is your bearer?
A darkness flowed and no names,
The soothsayer now cries,
And plays with my time;
The glory of a sigh portrait,
Brushed throughout and divine.