Painting

Painting

Let it be hanged,

On a nail, in your room,

To be admired, they said.

The painted house carried

That weight without a word,

Where I live, with my parents.

I stared, at the expanse,

The depth and colors,

Which they gave me to look at,

With an expensive sign underneath,

Invest in art was that week’s advice

Of priests at my father’s office.

Green grass, pretty flowers

And a lone mountain looks back at me,

Wherever I walk inside my room.

I was annoyed at the intrusion,

Until the golden frames gleamed,

Made us friends, fellow prisoners.