A lifeless portrait it is,
lying bare and bound to it's frame;
gone from rack to ruin,
muted and clogged in ashes.
A lifeless pirtrait it is,
it lost its' luster sitting on the porch;
a shadow of its' old self,
devoid of radiance and ripped of grace.
A lifeless portrait it is,
a lover's image;
now covered in dust, now soiled in mud;
silently chanting symphonies of melodies.
So, dust the frame and rid the ashes,
raise the bars that veiled the mien;
a lover's portrait, lives within;
a memory kept inside,
it's more than just a canvass! ! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A fantastic flowing poem, a fantastic write.