The Portrait

Portrait

Confusion comes in water colour

a pale imitation of the self
the riot that is in turmoil
delves deeper into the murky pallet

And blend the waters of the perception
a tale in oils on a soiled canvass
till life is art in every line
hold still the fruits of the mind

Mix mauve painted madness
into shades of depression
And all that develops
is the scream

And yet there is something
about the eyes
the windows to the soul
dark staring empty in the frame

That holds the gaze
like a butterfly pinned under glass
sinister yet inviting
the sadness to answer within