All you are is a painted image
Staring out of a picture frame
Your eyes have to power to mesmerize viewers
You’re just a memory, a ghost
An ideal stripped of humanity
A family obligation, refusing to rest in peace
Your bodies still wanders, immortal, craving blood
It’s left you behind along with the life you knew
You see closure through your descendents
Bending them to your will, shaping them into your instruments
You try not to get too attached to them
Try not to let them irritate you too much
Yes, they have secrets, they plot against you
All the while swearing devotion to you
Just what are they devoted to?
The image you created, the legend which sprung from it?
Reinforced by paint and paper
Your ambition exceeded your flesh’s limitations
Thus your flesh was transformed
Your soul trapped in canvas
Your one chance at life may be through your descendents
They’re a different immortality than what you sought
Could they be any more disappointing than this state?
Your chosen eternity turned into your prison
You’re an empty vessel accompanied by an empty legend
Waiting in desperation to be filled
A Portrait Is Worth a Thousand Words
Your painted image is proof of your hollow glory.