She painted her portrait
As Life itself
Had painted her's...

Short, sharp brush strokes
Scattered colour
Bold lines of empty canvas
No real depth
Although shadow

Behind her
To one side
Half a page of black

Some saw this as a mistake
Painted over

Others as darkness
Depression
‘One of them’

She smiled
I smiled back
Another one for the file
We laughed

She liked the colour red
But for passion
Not blood

Her music was quiet
Acoustic
Melancholy

She liked flowers
They have their place
But not one for roses
The trading of
For grace

She spoke of death
But not in veneration
Not for longing, of such

She felt peace at the cemetery
The comfort of silence
Nature

It reminded her she was alive
In spite of what others said

I went to see her today
And gave her flowers

...But not roses :(