As you step through the oak door, Its hinges shrilly creaking, The cycle begins again
The sight should be beautiful But, it only dredges up A bittersweet pain, The inescapable sorrow of parting
How wonderful, the delicious profile Of the human soul
The picture rests atop a pristine ivory canvas, Strokes of ebony ink rippling across its surface, Shallow raven black streams that weave together An ornate portrait of a not so distant past Within its little hidden details, the story Of a once happy family slowly unravels
Staring in the mirror, Sunken eyes, hollow smile. Gazing ahead, Only a ghost looks back.