Death Of A Painter Poem by Ofentse Mercy Hajane

At the wake of dawn,
As the sun peeked through the curtains that are laced with shadows.
The light that lit its way through the hideous maze of cloud that surrounds the apartment.
The reward of its feat was a gaze at the eternal beauty.
The face of a queen that never existed.
Whose body is but the perfection of all that deems perfection.
Skin painted of dark smooth chocolate that never washes away.
A queen among many other.
As the sun widen its view,
The dead came alive,
The colors that display pleasure poured around the apartment.
The walls flowered with face only seen in dreams.
And yet with all the beauty surrounding its grasp,
The sun was hungrier for more.
As it fought its way through the sky,
Counting beauty,
Breaking twigs of greed.
Still a long way to the branches let alone the trunk.
Shining selfishly,
Devouring all the colors but only one color it shone brighter on it.
Among all the flamboyant beauty that sprang to life,
Dead dwell those who shone no more lightly than an alley at a winter evening.
From the floor lays three whose color never banked to the beauty.
Splattered around,
A dark rich red averts the gaze of the sun.
Funny...
As abundant as others were,
Rainbow like to themselves each kept a piece of gold on them,
But the red was ten fold stronger than any.
Stained throughout a white carpet,
In a forest of wool,
But with no place or two to hide.
Among the huge mass,
The continent that cantered the apartment,
Lay an image,
Darker still,
The audience was by those whose gray face fancies none.
Hands tinted with the life that shone throughout the apartment,
And filthy by the land it lays on.
At near end lays a lead metal,
One who if given a chance was never a mild murderer.
Its master also lies carelessly,
His nose sniffing away in a wrong direction.
Caring less of the world,
Than the world cares for him,
All forgotten that he who lies next to him,
Once willed a brush and did miracles with paints.
After a long sip of whisky,
He would tell him stories of his trip down the pit of life and hold him dearly against his head,
His cheek and even dared to kiss him a mouth full.
In those days,
He knew not how to show him love,
But today two degrees cold he lays,
With a last kiss to his friend,
And a prophesy to burn the light of the sun one last time.
And he at last,
Learned to love the lost.