our tale begins midwinter
in austere and ancient rooms.. where landlords sold satanic ales to drink away life's glooms

a tortured artist drinks alone
his circumstances dire
sheltering in his suffering ways
adjacent to the fire

the world had moved on a'pace
and many were left behind
the artist eye that made him wealth.. now obsolete and blind

in matters of the fairer sex
he punched above his weight
two droplet eyes of emeralds
coupled with his fate

she had a savage logic
he lived by dint of heart
when friendly tides
bid both goodbye
they had no course to chart

the clock struck the bell's lament and soon he was last guest
when the landlord offered free a dram.. he thought it for the best

"I hear you are an artist" the bearded barman said
then pointed to a landscape
that hung above his head

"I take no joy in your poverty
as once I wore your shoes..
take that away.. for a year and day.. and I'll buy away your blues.."

dawn brought in fractions.. memory
the artist woke in bed
yet felt an uneasy presence
hanging overhead

he hung it in his study..
he hung it in the hall.. he hung it in an outhouse.. still he heard it's call

he tried to block it's echo.. by hanging in reverse.. but every colour mocked him.. his mind was now a curse

it terrorised his psyche.. it mirrored his unease.. it altered with the seasons.. trees did shed their leaves

his sanity divorced him.. to run away with pain.. he wondered if in waking dreams.. the landlord did the same..