The Painting

A haunted painting lies before me

Shadowed in its frame

It frightens those who watch it

And few escape the shame

But as of yet only I can see

What really lies within

And others glance and shake their heads

While others softly grin

The dark colors blend and flux

Never quite the same

Still the tragedy it shows me

I think I am to blame

Are these the things that were to come

And slowly pass me by

Or are these things because of me

And causing me to cry

I stand before this haunted piece

I wonder what to think

Like a swimming man with feet of stone

I gently start to sink

Into the greys of clouded night

And darkened days as well

I curl my soul into a ball

The things I could not tell

The painting now begins to fade

I faintly hear its call

I don’t resist or back away

And silently I fall

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