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Textured wings
Carry the dead
Which stare down
From your walls.
You trapped them here,
Your Beloveds.
Here, this frame,
The fantasy ends.
Dark objects
Spill to the floor.
She is an angel
Shadowed by your
Dark light.
Whisper the painted lies.
Your smile
You fashioned
From the same.
Rapunzel is locked
In a tower
As you create
Her future.
Plotting, Thievery, Killing.
After the joyful moment,
Trapped in the chamber
Is she with you.
Pure water,
How it washes away
The deceiving paint.
Now use it to paint
Those scars
Upon her cheeks,
Those rosy cheeks
You so love to paint.
Terrorize
The tender heart.
Give her the wings
You created for her.
You know they're faulty
Just like your vows.
After the exhibit
What's left to present?
Your audience has dispersed.
Do as you wish.
There's no one
To see
Your true hues.
While the one
With useless wings
Calls for the artist
She once loved.
One strike of the brush,
Then another.
A strike, not a stroke.
No, you are not kind,
You wretched deceiver.
But devotedly she remains
While you tear the canvas.
She's crying,
Begging you
To stop the ruin.
Her body
Is ravaged
By the one
Who once crafted joy
Into the bleak landscapes.
You were her artist,
You were her hero,
You were her lover,
And the tragic end.
Once you've captured
The likeness
Of her beautiful form,
You have no need of her,
No need to endure
Those pitiful sobs.
The last stroke is dry,
The last passion faded,
And unknown to her,
She has shed
Her last tear.
You trade your tools.
It's a blade for a brush,
And in sleep
Is where she meets her end,
Trapped forever
In the nightmares
You forced upon her.
A startled gasp
And you see her eyes
One last time
As they flutter open
For one brief moment.
It's the opening
Of the butterfly's wings
And its untimely death.
You are shaken with remorse,
For what have you done?
You've killed the angel.
She was all you'd hoped for.
Now even that,
You've stolen from yourself.
You paint the landscape
She once loved
In grieving and hopes
Of unmerited atonement,
Hoping that her soul
Will frolic there
Among the red hills
Instead of in the nightmares
You banished her to.
In the end
You do not
Stow away her portrait
With that of the other maidens
In the cold,
In the dark,
In the desolate tower
You once locked her in.
You place her portrait
Which smiles
Of her love for you
Over the fireplace,
Hoping that it might
Provide for her the warmth
Which you denied her
During her life.
And now,
For your deeds
Shall you forever weep.
Reap the sorrow
Of the many deaths
Sown by your hand
Whilst the angel
Gazes upon
A wasting form
Of her lover and artist,
Killed by his own trade.
- by Arkythiana |
- Poetry And Lyrics
- | Submitted on 07/11/2009 |
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![](https://graphics.gaiaonline.com/images/arena-images/ic_paper_corner_32x32.gif)
- Title: Brushes & Blades
- Artist: Arkythiana
- Description: I was inspired to write this poem after reading Edgar Allen Poe's The Oval Portrait. I just started thinking about painters, and this was born. It really doesn't have much to do with The Oval Portrait besides the fact that it contains a painter and his lover. This also has a tragic end...
- Date: 07/11/2009
- Tags: brushes blades painter love portrait
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Comments (4 Comments)
- Hilarious Harlequinn - 07/15/2009
-
Christ. I too haven't read that particular piece by Poe, but I can say that the constant painting metaphors used made to create a great picture. In the end?
I liked this. A lot. - Report As Spam
- FilloryFoxDragon - 07/14/2009
- Wow I really like this poem, I haven't read that particular Edgar Allen Poe piece, though now I think I might.
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- Arkythiana - 07/12/2009
- Thank you so much for reading and commenting! smile
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- polemarch - 07/12/2009
- This a great poem! It's hard to think of anything to say but that. It made me think too. 5/5
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