The Painting

Time really does fly by. It’s been a busy past couple of months, and this phase will only end in June hopefully. I have neglected interactions on this platform for a minute, albeit unintentionally, it has been devastating. I didn’t have time to pull together a story this week, fortunately, I  have this poem for “writing crisis” like now.                                                                   I love all art forms and often imagine that if I had the time I would project my creativity in making paintings, so here’s a poem that’ll stir your imagination, I hope you enjoy it.  Au Revoir darlings.

 

A lone man’s dreams these stories

Corals of ox-blood and ultramarine.

Delicate pieces of happiness, beauty & lust

War entwined onto the canvas on the wall.

 

Beauty floats in a meadow of virágok

Maidens of silk ebony skin,

Their radiant eyes veiled like morning dew

with voices like canaries.

Ensnaring them are men of power

Missles fire into the air

Corrupted soil turns crimson.

Volcanos give off condensed smug

Rain.

 

 

Feathered fawn, persnickety lots

A doe beside mossy greenery

Announcing it’s meek spirit

as if it were home

Wolves growl hastily at their prey

The blood moon runneth over

Flirting abstractions on tempera and pastel

 

 

The silhouette of a man

seated at a table

Elegance stares back at him

His bride by his side

Their hearts meet in the center

Knowing each other.

Finding each other

Completely free in each other.

Alas, evil stirs the ego of his brother

Consuming him, he unleashes  a wrath

Thus bringing an end  to a beautiful home

Man being his kin’s worse enemy.

 

Etched in brass beneath the painting;

“Her love although late, saved me,

but not before I forged a decree

and descended on the cul-de-sac to self-destruction.”

 

The fresco hangs haphazardly on the wall

Creating an imbalance between light and darkness.

Love and valor. Life and honor.

Archaic to the tides of change.

 

 

Virágok: origin; Hungarian, meaning; flowers

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