You know I like a good prompt and these are M’s for February. Why not give them a whirl. I seem to have taken to kinda dark angsty type of poems this month. Who’d have thought eh 🙂
Fingers, gnarled, long seasons passed
eyes sharp, hair white as snow
and every stroke a story told
kept secrets now on show
.
For all to see, to know, to feel
onto the canvas bleeds
fists clenched, heart swells, soft whispers beckon
fulfilment of his needs
.
To be forgiven, to forget
to rest, to sleep, in grace
dead eyes refuse, deny him yet
and so he sees her face
in every stroke, in everything
compelled, tries to forgive
himself and begs she let him go
at last once more to live
the very life he took which now
she lives through each brush stroke
and so they hang upon his walls
and creeping madness stoke
until wild eyed, wet browed, he screams
she laughs into the night
compels him paint, and how she smiles
from the canvas in delight
