The Portrait of a Dead Man (A tribute to damie-m's art of the same name)
His face is ashen, well was ashen till it crumbled
Flew, following and flying in the he roiling wind.
Yet his memory but a glimmer of things that was.
Like a picture slowly being burned by the candle’s light.
Black and white are the things that aptly describe his current state of being.
He now belongs to the past. Present and Future not longer exist to him
Still he is not lost. Half words are formed when people describe him,
People recall him at least in a vague sort of way.
He has and image yet no one will place the deeds.
They only see a face that will be foreign to them,
Except his direct relatives or acquaintances.
Little by little he will fade away not until the last grains will fall into the pile.
Mentions of him from now on will only foster nostalgia.
However he will be a grim reminder of a time where we all shall share his fate.
Soon our pictures hung on walls, seen by people in drab, stiff and gloomy clothing.
And they too shall be reminded of what we were.
Our deeds will be uttered by mouths, yet the significance not truly known.Then the portrait of the dead man shall have our faces.