by Nick Gisburne
Your portrait shows tomorrow, not today,
The truth of what will come, the blood to be,
The colours, cold, the features, frozen, grey,
A vision I am called and cursed to see.
Before the hints, the highlights, all, are dry,
Your soul will see this future from afar.
The shadows share a secret: you will die.
They will not let me paint you as you are.
Destroy the canvas, burn it, as you will.
No matter what you say, or what you do,
The future will be watching, waiting, still,
For this is your tomorrow. This is you.
Come closer. There is something more to see.
The figure standing over you is me.
