Door

He was sad
he was low so low
he was finished
he painted
he painted his last picture
silently bid his goodbye
and walked out through the door
later
decades later
the gallery attendant
who for years sat beside
beside this last painting
a masterpiece
his favourite
his friend
strange subject
a door
rich in colour
rich in warmth
rich in hue
dazzling shimmering
but
he was sad
he was low so low
he noticed the keyhole
and peered through
secretly
each night
and noticed
and saw
a speck
a figure
far away
a figure painting
a figure waving
he kept
his secret
then one day
silently bid his goodbyes
and walked out through the door.


Patrick McManus (UK)

From ‘Beyond Bedlam: poems written out of mental distress’, an anthology published in 1997 by Anvil Press