Inside white sheets a woman sleeps.
Outside the sound of a passing train rattles a dirty window.
Next door a man rises from an aged rusty bed and dresses in worn out clothes.
The wooden floor is silent in fear.
His wife emerges and blames him for her ageing.
He sighs into his lonely thoughts.
She falls and cry’s into a fading dream.
His work is endless stillness while her work is to forget.
The painting in which they both appear is seen by passing artists.
In their minds they steal that image which duplicates the silence of space.
On canvases they paint and draw moulding loneliness into form and shape.
Viewers see themselves in the pain that’s painted.
They see a frame of many lives.
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Author:
River123 (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 5th, 2026 23:31
- Category: Surrealist
- Views: 16
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments2
This is a magnificent poem nicely conceived and put into images that evoke feelings of an existential nature. It feels directionless and without purpose a life cold and stark without meaning just putting one foot in front of the last plodding on without a goal a treadmill of time. It feels weary and gray. Nicely done it has a powerful feel and is a fave,
Glad you enjoyed it and thanks for your comment. Much appreciated .
You are very welcome
Hello, River,
A surperb passage of poetic literature. Hauntingly beautiful in the 'silence of space' and the fading of a dream. A work of art, truly.
Fond regards,
Tony.
Many thanks for that .
Particularly as I love your work 🫶
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