The Artist Plot

Upon a plot vast and deep,
There lies a form time could not keep.
A skeleton, gaunt, with a ghastly grin—
A vermillion veil of hair frames the hollow within.

Red blooms rise where flesh once lay,
Petals of sorrow on grim display.
A heart—painted bold, yet spectral, torn—
Glows with the echo of love long worn.

Dahlias whisper, clematis sigh,
In shadows that moan of the graveyard sky.
Each flower bleeds, yet none decay—
Immortal blossoms in a death’s bouquet.

The bones, though brittle, sing of art,
A requiem carved from the artist’s heart.
For beauty lives where terror rots,
In oil drips bold—The Artist’s Plot.

And lo! The painting speaks of fate,
That love and death do copulate.
Forever bound, as night to dawn,
Life in flowers, yet flesh is gone.

One of one. A requiem in color, never to return.