My Old Poetry

I used to write lots and lots of poetry.  I had an account that I used to upload my poems to.  I can't believe that was 7 years ago.  Holy wow.  I've written lots of poem, mostly emotional ones.  It got me through a lot of stuff and I forgot how much I love to write poetry.   I'd say some of my favorite work was a series of poems where a jealous wife looks upon her husband who is completely obsessed with his work.  My favorite one of the series is titled:  The Painter and His Sculpture.  Here it is:

The Painter and His Sculpture

I watch him meticulously paint on the canvas,

his moves carefully planned and thought,

he shows his tender love and admiration,

till he creates that which he sought.

Envious I am sometimes as I watch,

his love for that he does paint,

He doesn't know that I have deep inner hatred,

for to him I'm a perfect saint.

With each gentle stroke, like a caress on the flesh,

the painter makes on the canvas bare,

his sensuous passion and endless desire,

to which I find hard to compare.

I know I am foolishly stating my anguish,

of the jealousy that I feel for his art, 

but how can one conceal this deep felt sorrow,

when a canvas has stolen his heart?

I'd die for the painter without even a thought,

for my passion for him never mild,

but as I look at the canvas he's painting,

she looks in my eyes and she smiles.