In the painting, a man screamed
A man who loved, a man who dreamed
In the painting, he cared for her
He worshiped her, he loved her
In the painting, he waited days
Just so he could see her face
In the painting, she looked at him
She didn't know he watched with whim
In the painting, the sun shown light
In the day and in the night
In the painting, he smiled wide
Even though he each night cried
In the painting, he saw no more
Then the people passing, his heart was torn
In the painting, he waited years
Until finally the girl disappeared
In the painting, he had cried
Knowing that the girl had died
But in this painting, the man would stay
Every night and every day
Author notes
This is the first poem that i felt truly wonderful about myself. i was thirteen years old when i wrote it and i still admire the imagination it took me to write it. Any advice to improve it at this point would be wonderful.
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