The Portrait

An empty house remains empty, without the company it once bore. Cobwebs drape antiques like royalty-- conversations not welcome anymore. Creaking walls that echo uneasiness, murder could take sanctuary here-- A wooden tomb with a glass face, chimes forever--at midnight each year. Earthenware china in pools of soot, the clanging of utensils it once provided. Three showcase marionette dolls-- with their immovable lips divided. Four unpainted walls harbor silence, in the center there seeps in light-- A portal that mimics an opposite world, two turtle doves entwined in flight-- and oh what a sight,what a sight!