The Last portrait

The long hallway
turned with
side halls to take.

Many doors to pass
through
some locks to break.

At each turn he stopped,
saw
portraits of boys, then

As he passed on further
the boys
became men.

The young faces shined
hope,
the older showed strength

and as he passed
onward,
he discovered at length,

looking back at the
walls
there were no portraits there.

All along his long path
mirrors
were hung with great care.

He looked to his left
saw
a graying man stare

Then he looked far ahead
and saw
one last portrait there

The end of the hall
appeared
now in his sight

On his journey he passed
from
early morning to night.

Steadily now, he walked on
toward
the end of the hall.

He wanted to see the
last
portrait of all.

To look into that face
with no
fear or surprise.

To examine what waited,
what
shines in those eyes.

Is it truth?
Is it Joy,
That moves him along,

or perhaps the beginning
of new verse
and song?

The answer my friend
will come
to us all,

When we finish
our walk down our own
mirrored hall.

©William Davis 1998