Still the Portrait

Portrait of my vision. Colored by my words. Inspired by my life. Although sometimes lines are blurred.

Dreamed long of harmony though not to come to pass. Deepest wish much like fragile glass. Lonely burning on empty path. 

Dry dusted Earth, nowhere found growing grass. I cannot feel the weight of me, much like I have no mass.

I hear dark voices call to me at night. Join us, join us, we must start the fight. Discounted chaos from those who've lost their sight. I cannot go to them. I cannot pledge them kin. Where I to align would cast my heart in sin.

My soul has been to places that you only read about in books. Books you read on sunny days in your breakfast nook. You hold your knees tight to your chest and read each breathless word. But my soul has been there, through the chapters echos you heard. God, it was good to live even the lie of love for a time. Thousand times better to find one that was mine.

In the gaze of the red eye of Jupiter. My lover's heart frozen on the moon of Callisto. Beneath the frozen surface of her hart's resting place lies the sarcophagus of my tears. You don't believe what I had. So you'll never understand what I'd lost. So pity me from the high cost.

Every word another stroke of the brush. I am both painter and model of subject and such. This must be my canvas. My purpose. My touch. But am I lucky to know this much?

Ring around the Roses. My neighbors sniff their noses. Am I not fine to dine? Would you not pour me wine? Bid me wash my feet If I had time? It is my custom to forgive, but you don't feel remorse. So like so many in society you just stay your course.

You wax and wane, but never explain. You huff and you puff and surely bring pain. And I live this moment again and again for no gain. You'll never know the pain I endure. You think you can I'm sure. This portrait ruined from madness no cure. Holding on to shattered sanity is my legacy. It's there in the portrait or can't you see? I fear there's nothing left for me.

It will never be. There was never seen. A perfect Maiden matched to keep the heavens clean. Even demons were once Angels with wings of golden sheen. I've loved them in both forms as they've gone between.

A will and a heart filled with much love. To never be returned from below or above. My lines are blurred. My colors don't match. But my words still rhyme, so that is that.