New Never Is - Charles Wood
New never is...
(Charles Wood)
We are but voyeurs,
peering through the iris
of the painter’s eye’s recording
details of a scene
not meant for sharing,
when wealth and power
are kith and kin
of the common man,
and rank hath neither
meaning nor memory
or power over
the passions,
the needs of youth,
the sway of love,
the slip of flesh on flesh,
the scent of earth,
the consequence.
Do you not feel the crackle of
fear and violence,
smell as I do
shame and desperation,
comprehend the role of
each of the players
by the masks they wear?
Imagine if you will
the hours sure to follow:
the actions dictated by convention;
the disregarded pleas;
the assignment of blame;
the mean whispers;
the banishment;
the unchangeable fortunes.
If only it were true
that love will triumph
instead of being mere
frayed threads of duty.
At last the artist looks away
from the unfortunate scene,
quelling memories
far too close for comfort.
For Isaiah Zerbst’s contest.
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