DethBlossem
10-31-2004, 06:14 AM
Alone I stand… in my canvas of gray…
A still life form… watching from the corner of your room…
So alive…my eyes seem,
At times, you feel as though you are not alone within your walls…
But I am merely a painted sentinel…
Suspended there… for you found me charming and mysterious…
A conversation piece… an ornament….
You invested in me, nothing more than futility…
The usual price for things which you crave to possess…
For it is easier this way… you stay unattached…
In control … this is at least, what you omit…
I was painted voiceless …
Yet, not unable to hear… however this you do not recognize…
I watch you as you shed tears …
My acrylic heart, breaking…
If you were observant, you would see the fading
There, right where it ought to be… on the canvas…
The only location which seems to age…
I see you in the stillness… each solitary night…
The trail of your tears on that cold stone floor…
Which lead to a window… holding your fingerprints…
During the daytime… they are invisible, for the room is arid…
Night, is different however…
The moisture from your weeping… causes them to appear…
Like little phantoms, they chronicle your many attempts of liberation…
Each time… you fall to the floor… as a small child wounded…
You gaze unequivocally at me now and again…
Through you tear filled eyes…
As if wishing me to speak… articulate words of consolation…
For I am an antiquity… retaining much knowledge of pain within each brushstroke of my creation
Voiceless I remain… inanimate… as your moon soaked shadow reaches…
Wanting for me
To come down, and wrap my arms about your fragile body….
For a second time… my acrylic heart cracks… watching
As your only comforting embrace …
The heavy draperies which shut out the pastel of mourning…
Envelop you… deep red tones, contrasting your ashen face…
I lull you into sleep with my silence…
Giving you peace in the form of a dream…
The only place where you can find me…feel that touch you long for…
Where we exist as tangible beings… and I wonder at times…
If you recollect… if you know… that it was I holding you …
Stealing the nightmares from your reality…
With each kiss, breathing in your sorrow…
Tis but a dream… and I, nothing more than a portrait…
As you awaken, shaking the sleep from your empty eyes…
Your aristocratic sentinel … still devotedly suspended there…
Proudly framed, in grays and all tones of despondency…
Voiceless and melancholy …
Awaiting nightfall… for our tragedy to begin yet again.
© Dethblossem
A still life form… watching from the corner of your room…
So alive…my eyes seem,
At times, you feel as though you are not alone within your walls…
But I am merely a painted sentinel…
Suspended there… for you found me charming and mysterious…
A conversation piece… an ornament….
You invested in me, nothing more than futility…
The usual price for things which you crave to possess…
For it is easier this way… you stay unattached…
In control … this is at least, what you omit…
I was painted voiceless …
Yet, not unable to hear… however this you do not recognize…
I watch you as you shed tears …
My acrylic heart, breaking…
If you were observant, you would see the fading
There, right where it ought to be… on the canvas…
The only location which seems to age…
I see you in the stillness… each solitary night…
The trail of your tears on that cold stone floor…
Which lead to a window… holding your fingerprints…
During the daytime… they are invisible, for the room is arid…
Night, is different however…
The moisture from your weeping… causes them to appear…
Like little phantoms, they chronicle your many attempts of liberation…
Each time… you fall to the floor… as a small child wounded…
You gaze unequivocally at me now and again…
Through you tear filled eyes…
As if wishing me to speak… articulate words of consolation…
For I am an antiquity… retaining much knowledge of pain within each brushstroke of my creation
Voiceless I remain… inanimate… as your moon soaked shadow reaches…
Wanting for me
To come down, and wrap my arms about your fragile body….
For a second time… my acrylic heart cracks… watching
As your only comforting embrace …
The heavy draperies which shut out the pastel of mourning…
Envelop you… deep red tones, contrasting your ashen face…
I lull you into sleep with my silence…
Giving you peace in the form of a dream…
The only place where you can find me…feel that touch you long for…
Where we exist as tangible beings… and I wonder at times…
If you recollect… if you know… that it was I holding you …
Stealing the nightmares from your reality…
With each kiss, breathing in your sorrow…
Tis but a dream… and I, nothing more than a portrait…
As you awaken, shaking the sleep from your empty eyes…
Your aristocratic sentinel … still devotedly suspended there…
Proudly framed, in grays and all tones of despondency…
Voiceless and melancholy …
Awaiting nightfall… for our tragedy to begin yet again.
© Dethblossem