| Commentary and Philosophy Poetry
posted April 19, 2018 |
A dead man has neglected his family
My painting's on hold; some parts need to dry.
I'm starting to add some tears as I cry.
My streaking dark tears are dripping a path.
But, minor they are, compared to my wrath.
I've ordered some yellow, green and some red
I'm hoping the blues will exit my head.
Been waiting so long for paint spots to dry;
It makes me decide to finish the sky.
The blues won't appear in sunrise's scene;
Some orange and some pink and even some green.
The pale yellow glow of sun's on the rise.
I hope that I've painted Truth and not lies.
The painting is dry, detailing my life.
I still have to add my kids and my wife
I really don't want to use any red.
Some brown for the ground; I'll paint that instead.
I waited too long to update the scene.
There's some of my life; still wants to be seen.
I don't really know why I had to wait.
Did not understand my painting's real fate.
I wish I had known that it would become
The life I will have when mine is all done.
My children are playing there on the floor.
My wife has just finished closing the door.
I'm serving my sentence, doing my time.
I'm forced to just watch this old life of mine.
I hang in the parlor right by the hall.
My permanent home is here on the wall.
I never did finish painting them in.
Instead, I was drinking a bottle of gin.
I only can see them walk in the hall.
My usual view's the dog with his ball.
I miss them so much; it hurts for ten miles.
If only I'd painted all of their smiles.
I rounded that curve, the truck hit its brakes
I started to think of all my mistakes.
The biggest ones have me hanging on walls.
And missing the dears who walk in the halls.
I know I regret priorities made.
My sunrise is done; but, it is so staid.
I've lived in this painting since I have died.
Whatever I'd painted came for the ride.
I always will see the orange and pink hues
And trees that are brown; but never the blues.
To make their flesh tint, I needed some red.
I won't see them again once they are dead.
Nobody can see me under this paint;
Would totally freak and probably faint
I'm just a sad spirit bound to this earth.
For hundreds of years, I'll hope for rebirth.
Unfortunate fact, I'll know of each death;
Will also be here for ev'ry last breath.
My horrible fate is to look from above
And hope for a glimpse of someone I love.
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Rhyming Poetry Contest contest entry
Enjoy your family while you live. Fate may make it your last time to be with them.
Thank you for reading my poem.
I found the photo via a search on the internet
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