The Three Brides Of The Portrait Painter

by Oliviu Crâznic

Her eyes of starlight honey, her hair the golden wine,

I was to paint her portrait, and then we were to dine;

Her body dressed in lilies, all blossomed on her bloom,

I said the words, I touched her – the White Bride left the room.

 

I tried to cope with passion, when she returned for me;

Naked under the roses – I painteth on my knee…

Yet long before her blonde curls appeared in the frame,

I tried to kiss my loved one – assuming all the blame.

 

Proudly arose the Red Bride, lightning seraphic eyes!…

I read in her the goddess, whilst she said goodbye!…

My arrogance had cast her, my ire drives me blind,

Alloying blood with metals, I paint her in my mind.

 

Watching the last leaf falling, now someone’s at the door;

Her nightgown of black tulips, that’s everything she wore.

Frozen is the fay’s hair, dead cold her lips will be…

I let her have the canvas – the Black Bride’s painting me.

1 Comments

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