Tears of a Portrait
In hollow vast extensive inner halls
I see, peruse, past generations portraits
Oh faces long forgotten
Of memories begotten
Of other lives and joys and fears and straits
It is an anniversary
Of coming from the nursery
My body, soul and hopelessness today
If only doctors had deemed me unwell!
And brought on me all powers from all medicines
Had made me dance the sound of all their symphonies
Perhaps fate would have not imparted sorrows
And yet I stand here bare on this occasion!
Of falling into bitter envy’s clutches
Of seeing faces and, based on mere hunches,
To deify such long gone generations!
Without a clue of their own desperations!
I see I am a worm of smallest feelings
The exposition staff do, still, observe me
No doubt they herald last turns of the clock
When doors are closed and tightly comes a lock
I better move and shamelessly depart
From all this sick unmeasurably ogling
A jealousy invisible yet flowing
From my one visage static to another
Though portraits’ ones hide their emotions better!
I cross the gates and exiting the building…
I cannot stand to think and realize
What putrid man is walking in my shoes
I am this man whose reason for the blues
Is moral, unrelenting, a disguise
Whose mental faculties will not suffice
To change an act and humble through regret!
To take a stolen artwork masterpiece
Through plan devised by me in piece by piece
Still stashed in hidden shadows, guarded place
To take it back and show it oh I must
I must! I must! To load off clawing agony
Of inner blaring thrashings of mine soul
So finally my truest self can know
Peace!
And still, I hoard it hidden tightly, greedly
I cannot give away the power freely
To bask in all the marvels of the brush!
It is indeed today an anniversary
Of time of birth of me, though also verily
Is also date that I once took hold hurriedly
Of object of a master’s paint and guilt!
Though masters of aesthetics and ateliers
Pale when against those of regret made felt!...
And even though my mouth can say these words
My mind can think these feelings
My heart can take these reelings
What good is all of it!
What good is keen awareness
Of reason for my sadness
Of urging for my gladness
If just won’t execute
The obvious accessible necessity
To make capitulation in simplicity
My arrogant self!
I still give me the gift
Just like on fated day
To find myself a way
To hurt because of it!
My gazes at the painting
Their power and the longing
For no more be prolonging
The pain that I maintain!
Oh, oh but yes the gazes
Are optical blazes
They surely so are burning
The painting and the paint!
I need to hide it deeper
In darker a container
A coffer or a safer
I need a mausoleum!
Just any stout protection
From rigid degradation
That from my observation
My eyes will kill the art!
I must do it again
The previous attempts
Were merely some portents
That it need be done once more!
This shovel in my hands
And silence of the night
As it hangs by my side
Shall be signs thus so spelling
Events here to unfold
Amidst the mud and mold
Embracing us the cold
The masterpiece and I!
You will live underground
My square, artistic lover
The earth is tender cover
You will not die again!
From sights mine irresponsible
You know how I am loveable
There won’t be no regrettable
Corrosion of your canvas!
Loud sirens scream far, distant, yet they cannot comprehend
Emotions so imbuing from a watercolor friend
Of mystifying visuals which can a psyche rend
Torn! Torn!
This heaving, this strained heaving of the dirt to seal the tomb
Devour, earth! The veil of brown this heaving makes a womb!
And may my darling painting find its comfort from the sun!
And from the eyeball lasers that I always ever spun!
You cannot stop it, two law officers won’t be enough!
You drag me to the siren’s scream that I already knew of!
But though my feet now streak the earth
A pulling from four strong arms’ girth
I know that treasured opus shall remain protected!
From searing rays of eyes of mine that could not be corrected!
It will not burn no more!
My eyes!
My eyes!!!