Painted Love
Painted
love
in many
colors
Is
her portrait
on my wall.
Every
day
I stare and wonder
If
the painter
knew that
girl.
Did
he see her
in her
glory
When
the sun
rose in her
eyes?
Did
he only
know the
story
Of
her many
stolen
sighs?
Did
his paints
turn red
with longing
For
the beauty
they
portrayed?
Must
have wanted
her, but
did he
Touch
her, and
was he
afraid?
Painted
love,
my silent
picture,
Tells
no stories,
tells no
lies.
Leaves
me here
to weep and
wonder
If
the painter
also cries.
© 2011