The Lonely Painter

On a wooden stool he stays
And paints the rest of his day away
He is old, with a beard long and grey.

This old man is never happy, always depressed
He lives alone, with never any guests
There are only two things he cares about, anything else he could careless.

In his house paintings are scattered everywhere
He only thinks of one thing, his mind doesn’t go anywhere
Every single painting is the same, a woman with long hair.

This man was not always alone is his life
Just a few years ago he had lost his wife
His love for her was so deep, the day she left the pain cut deep like a knife.

He’ll never forget the day she died
From that day on he could not stop the tears he cried
She will always be mentally with him till the day he dies.

One night he stepped on an old painting on the floor
He sank into the paper and paint, the old man does not exist in this world anymore
Now he lives in the painting with his wife he adores.

The next day he was found in his room lying on his back
With paper and paint all over him to be exact
But he was not alive; he had died last night from a heart attack…

by JNYCE
posted on 05/09/2008