Monday, 10 June 2013

What Wasn't There

I walked into the hallway,
Saw a painting on the stair
That filled half the wall and all the house
And showed what wasn’t there.

A man sat in the painting
A pile of books by his chair
The titles were illegible
And spoke what wasn’t there.

I steeped lightly to the riser
Made no more noise than I dare
For that man listened intently
And heard what wasn’t there.

My hands caressed the frame
Carved with craftsmanship and care
My fingers explored the canvas
And felt what wasn’t there.

And so I took the picture
From that hallway cold and bare
I carry it round with me
It shows what isn’t there.

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