The Painter, And The Apparition Poem by Z. Moon

Somewhere in a room,
Becoming like a tomb,
Is a painter and a clock,
Not a sound but tick tock,
Tick tock

He waits with oil stained hands,
Brushes that itch,
Dollops of paint on a pan,
A blank canvas and all of its demands

Not waiting to depict his vision,
The painter waits for the apparition.

Then he hears him in the halls,
Walking in the corridor,
Footsteps creak through the walls,
The creaky door opens,
And back comes it all

The ghost moves in robes of mist,
Over the floorboards,
And next to him,
'Only one question, I implore'
'Why did we kiss,
So you could leave me to mourn? '
The specter clenches his fist,
As his eyes fall to the floor

'Don't move' says the painter, 'just stay like this',
Then grabs his brush, before the moment is missed,

The easel speaks a ghostly sigh,
While he paints a silent lullaby,
The painter and the apparition,
Beneath the sky.

Longing weaved in strokes of art,
Fractured bones and shattered heart,
The painter and the apparition, soon depart.