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!
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