People stare into the portraits hanging there,
Portraits just glare back, watching, gathering.
They see, hear all, and utter nothing;
Tears shed, plans made, broken
Secrets kept bound on canvas.
Absorbing laughter, thoughts,
Imprinted within brush strokes.
Oils containing dreams, brought here.
Artist’s folly, a person’s musing,
Thoughts trapped in a flick of stroke.
© Nick Strong 2014
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
People stare into the portraits hanging there,
Portraits just glare back, watching, gathering.
They see, hear all, and utter nothing;
Tears shed, plans made, broken
Secrets kept bound on canvas.
Absorbing laughter, thoughts,
Imprinted within brush strokes.
Oils containing dreams, brought here.
Artist’s folly, a person’s musing,
Thoughts trapped in a flick of stroke.
© Nick Strong 2014
Written a while ago after looking at a famous piece of art work and thinking how much it had seen whilst hanging there.
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