The Portrait On My Wall. The Works Of Time And Life Poem by Agatha Eliza

Shelter me from the rain
that whipped my skin
and tore my flesh apart
like the rags of an old cloth
tattered and blood-stained
hanging loosely
on a skeletal, spectral body
with a face erased by time
but still clinging on,
trying to maintain the smile
while being swallowed
in the quicksands of life
with its last remnants
of long lost pigments
that once coloured a lavish
navy, velvet gown.

The roses have bleached;
their petals are ashen
brittle and wilted
unmatched in their fairness..
but now, my voice is just
a fading echo, travelling
empty halls
in this museum of nothingness
this museum of yore.