This Painting

Looking at this painting that hangs beside my bed,
It is a skeleton looking like nothing but dead.

It has wings, so big
And so colorful.
It has no eyes
Just black holes staring right at me.

I am not scared
As I look at it tonight.
But when I look at it
It makes everything feel all right.

It was painted by my brother
Maybe that is why I have no fears
When I lay here
And stare at it all night.

The back round is a dark, dark blue
Looking like some kind of darkness.

I stare at this painting tonight
Trying to figure out its story
And how it came to be what it is now.

There are cutout words from magazines
One says “Dreams”
And yet another says “Broken Life”
I find a word, “Panic”.
Found one more, “Night”.

I then find and count seven clocks
Does this mean that time is running out?
Or does it mean something opposite of that question.

This skeleton looks like a cat
But with only its bones
Looking so bare.
It has a key underneath its paws,
Do I have to find the key to my life?
Or do I already have the key to the lock and to my life?

There’s a compass in the bottom left corner,
It is pointing north
It is telling me to always go and move forward
And never go back.

Staring at this painting tonight
Finding out little by little
Its lost story of how it came to be.

by Kimberly Santistevan

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