The Painting

It sat upon the wall
Above a fireplace; showing fall
The picture was there for years
In the place of many tears

I cannot remember its detail
Pierce my heart; as a nail
It was but orange; I do remember
Thoughts like fire and burning embers

It was large; looking over the room
At the end; it did but loom
Watching over the scene
Of my memories; it does but lean

Is it a picture of a road?
Or perhaps a river; my thoughts slowed
It could be a chain link fence
A forest of trees; stark and dense

I saw it there as my childhood passed
A downward sorrow is but cast
It stood above me in the room
As my father created my tomb

What stories would this painting tell
It would see my living hell
It would know what happened to me
My thoughts hurt; please let me be

So what if the painting were to speak
What would it say; wisdom to seek
And if I cannot remember this scene
Just what does that really mean?

For six years; this painting saw
My thoughts meek; I do withdraw
From what happened in this place
My memories; they try to erase

Years have past; the painting still there
I remember; it brings back the scare
My memories amiss at the end
The painting knows; it can but mend

So what do I seek from this painting now
As my thoughts furrow my brow
Could it be that I cannot know
The horror too much for me to grow?

If I remember what the painting knows
My life is thrown; my thoughts close
I am frightened of this scene
Of what my memories can but mean

So I forget; the room for now
I continue on with life; thoughts disavow
I one day will remember the painting
Steady myself; my thoughts are waiting.