I have a closet full of paint supplies. Maybe one day I will feel the pull of that creative outlet again. It’s not that I was any good, only that I enjoyed the process. The photo of the painting is blurry. It’s the only one I could get to upload.


After

The artist within her
bled out through the brush
the day he died.

Without her muse,
the colors held no life.
The canvas, a door
to a world
she could not enter.

Light and shadow lost,
mornings and nights
blended
like an overworked canvas
into grays.

She managed
one final canvas,
a tribute:
the tree of life,
leaves burnished gold,
roots threaded
with gold and green
like the Irish isle
seen from
a window seat.

At the base of the trunk
a golden heart.

Now the painting rests,
backdrop to memories,
a photograph,
and what remains
of him.



Poetry by Melinda K Zarate The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 13 times
Written on 2026-03-25 at 16:07

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one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
I see a painting which says love, and a poem which explains the love.

Beware the muse, she often arrives unexpectedly!
2026-03-25


Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
I really like this poem. It is really honest and heartfelt, that's obvious. When the inspiration/muse inspires you to, go for it without delay, your accompanying image and your explanation feels to me as though your painting is also poetic. Blessings, Allen
2026-03-25