A portrait picture, hung on the wall
It shone down upon the room
A dark skinny man, longing.
Longing for the attention
Any attention from you
Sometimes he smiled
When he saw that you noticed him
But that smile was a frown
After a second or two.
All he wanted was to be seen
Not interpreted but seen.
“Why must they think”
“Why can’t they just see me”
Every day at that miserable gallery
New faces and old would walk on through
Laughing, crying and some just didn’t know what to do
But then one day stood a woman
A most beautiful woman,
That this poor painting had never seen
She didn’t try to understand,
She didn’t try to analyse.
Instead she just saw him.
The young girl stared into his eyes,
She gave a little smile,
But left shortly after
With a tear in her eye.
Did she understand his agony?
Maybe she realised he was trapped
Framed for a lifetime
For something he didn’t do
“The Sorrowful Man”
That’s just my name.
But I am more than that,
Something these people
Will never understand
They may have hung me up here,
For all to see,
I may look sad,
I may look Angry,
But that isn’t me.
I once lived a life,
A happy life
But that bastard painted me this way
I bet you’re glad not to be me
