PORTRAIT
A Portrait first made,
Shed tears for breath,
Maker, your smile,
Lost somehow now betrayed.
A portrait just dressed,
Colored 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 the abode?
Cry out – your tears!?
Mixed with colors, a maze,
A salty vision,
I know the taste,
The horse now stabled,
And the picture framed,
Somehow clipped to the doors,
Painter – you strive for more;
Would you bargain me the right?
To kiss her brows,
And more on her toes,
And more with her cores;
Would you let me to the door?
Slammed behind,
With fertile blood,
And blended folks;
Oh! I am lost
Again at the sight,
Few more nights,
Day makes only lights.
Oh! I am for the lights,
If not?
A portrait in my flight,
Peaceful and glowing bright;
What I longed for,
Now stripped to pieces,
Lifeless – beats no more,
Plugged in the whirlpool of saddles;
Would you swallow?
Passersby once more,
The broken 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.
