silence is golden

 

The pictures were beautiful, 

no one could deny it. 

But one existed that was perfection, no blemish;

it remained bright in my mind. ‘

When another emerged, 

with one small detail out of place,

I spoke.

Wanting to encourage the viewer 

to find the correct one,

I pointed.

But before the explanation could be voiced, 

I was chastised for finding fault.

Banished from the group.

Not allowed to share.

I could not speak, even though I craved to be understood.

The barriers not merely in the shunning, but internal, physically incapable.

but all 

I wanted

was to help.

They did not need me. 

The angelic portrait did not need me. 

It emerged, unbidden.

I retreated, unforgiven.