The Mysterious Portrait In My Den
The mysterious portrait in my den always seems to be glaring at me from across the room.
I do not know why it seems this way, but my heart burns every time I feel this way.
My spirit that is lifted from my soul tears in my den.
My cold hands in my growingly cold den mourn the loss of my mother.
I wish to know why it is so cold in my den. I fear I will never know.
All I distinguish between my loss, my gloss glass heart that breaks every time you touch it.
Is my broken family that now resides in my home?
I hear a noise not knowing what it is.
The noise appears to be at my front door.
I am too afraid to answer the door as I fall to my wood floor
What I need is more—
More from the shore right outside my door—
But this noise I do not believe.
The mysterious portraits now outside my den is in my collection of don’t know when. Don’t know when I will bring it back.
Bring it back inside my now dark den.
But for them to no one in the now and then
I know my heart will beat once again.
My portrait of my mother in my now bright den
Right outside my door
I hear a knocking.
From my locking voice
My shocking reflection in my mirror I see.
I SEE MY MYSTERIOUS PORTRAIT RIGHT IN MY DEN AGAIN.
MY PORTRAIT WITH EYES SCRATCHED OUT ON MY MOTHERS GRAVE
MY MYSTERIOUS PORTRAIT THAT IS NOW DARK
IS LOOKING RIGHT AT ME
I RAN, I RAN AS FAR AS I COULD
THEN I REALIZE MY MOTHERS PORTRAIT IS FLORESCENT WITH A FRIGHTINING GREEN LIGHT
BUT AS MY HEART BEATS
AS MY SOUL WEEPS
I HEAR MY MOTHERS VOICE
“YOU KILLED ME”;
KNOW I DID NOT;
“YOU KILLED ME”;
AS THIS VOICE ECHOES THROUGOUT MY DEN;
MY EYES GO BLURRY I HAVE PASSED OUT;
I awake several hours afterward the darkness in my soul, consumed
My den bright again;
But my soul damned forever.
I told no one my dark secret.
But on my death bed I will tell;
Or will I?
On my bed of death should I?
For my mother
But still my mysterious portrait
Which still appears in my den
With all its darkness will haunt me forever.