Learnmore Edwin Zvada Poems

When a rainy day dies, together with a few unfortunate souls,
I ponder at the notion of painting a colorful picture to put up in the small room in which my body will rest someday
Its a picturesque vision of life or lack thereof that does seem to linger too long in my eyes,
Like a distant mirage...with the loneliness of a hog dying in labor
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Her life is one big story of love
She just is a mirror on which I reflect on in all of my days
I gather, I still miss her more than I admit
When I cry; it's the pain, but I find not that tear
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Perhaps not my overzealous foot
I cannot take you on my date tonight
You continue to add injury to my amorous impediment
I have gone from date to date
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I wrote a song today
A song of color grey, dull and sad
An irregular composition, such as from a drunken minstrel's pipe organ
It didn't tell of the starry night or a cloudy form
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When I depart from this doomed hovel
My eyes will no longer rest on the wall
Onto which your portrait hung
The smirk on your face unsavory like the rest of you
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I have not the lines to describe the whim of a painter
fashioning a portrait of a kept woman,
nor have I saddled my gaze upon the seesawing
bosom, supple skin's dimpled rise, the rounds
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