The Portrait
A thousand years from now,
Just as it was a thousand years ago,
Words will have lived and died and been forgotten
And there’ll be other words no one will know.
So, I can only hope my verse will live
Beyond that metamorphosis of word,
Leaving no confusion in its wake
Nor oddities of clarity incurred.
For you see, I’ve tried to be an artist
And paint you upon the canvas of my pad
So as to set the pictures of your wondrous spirit
Beside the images of love we’ve had.
Will the portrait of your love, in time, then fade
Letting our love become a myth unto the ages?
Better I am gone upon that day
Than to hear the foolish words of sages.
But whether my words shall live or die
Or whether my canvas rots away with time,
No word shall ever justly serve
Your love and beauty in any rhyme.
And whether or not that’s understood
And whether or not these words are seen as true,
One truth shall live beyond all words
And that’s how much I’ll always love you.
