Its called portrait.Portrait
I see another picture frame facedown
Cracking around the edges and the heart
And though our concrete smiles remain renowned
A fissure splits our pining arms apart
My smile that beamed now finds itself in half
Upturned along a glassy jagged tip
And in silence I thought I heard one laugh
Another fallen portrait starts to slip
I did not mean for our pictures to break
But all the sorry portraits in my life
Appear to be victims of an earthquake
And cut through weakened flesh as though a knife
And though I sit surrounded all the while
I wonder if though cracked we will still smile
