I once had a great self portrait,
Each brush stroke carefully placed.
Hours, weeks, days of hard work were poured into my image,
And I stood proudly
As my work of labor stared back at me.
A perfect reflection.
But I...
I didn't protect my labor of love.
Thieves stole away with it in the midnight hour,
Reconstructed and warped the curves and lines
I had painstakingly painted.
By the time they'd finished, it was nothing but a mockery.
Placed back in its frame and placed under the light.
Others recoiled at the sight.
They'll never see the portrait that was once there;
They'll only see what others have allowed them to see.
YOU ARE READING
As the Light Fades
PoetryJust scattered fragments of poetry and random musings. The topics aren't pretty, so read at your own discretion.
