The Picture

Another poem in my Dorian Gray series, submitted for Susan’s Midweek Motif at Poets United – sunset.

The Picture
Sunset.
The thin handsome young man stood in his garden
watching it bleed onto the smooth snow.
It was cold but inside the glass conservatory
attached to his home,
roses bloomed – red, orange, yellow, deep pink
echoing the colors of the setting sun.
He breathed vapor in and out,
like a golden dragon
not seeming to feel the cold.
He stood until the last vestige of color
leached from the sky.
In the darkness he stood and finally felt the cold.
He went inside and poured himself a sherry
and quietly walked to the secret chamber.
He looked at the hideous portrait
hidden from view of all except himself.
“Sunset old chap” he murmured.
“It is sunset for you.”
Dorian Gray gave a grim laugh.
“But it is always sunrise for me.”
He lifted the sherry to his lips and drank.

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