ALBEIT THE LIES WE LIVE
Give me something to paint and I'll paint it
Just like it is. Anything else and you'll taint it
The image on the canvass is complete but you cannot see it
Don't worry, I can't either.
With every brush stroke, I envision its presence.
It lurks in night's slumber
like a wayward voyeur
Right below the surface,
like sweat droplets treading in their
Own misery, taking up parcels of space,
nowhere for perfume to
Rest or take form.
pompous? It is what it is.
still hiding, still crying,
Take notice of
The passion that drifts, rocking in the wind
Blankets of nothingness below its descent,
its final resting place
A dash of what? Everything is there. Trust
Me; I've been doing this for years
Palette empty now. Painting complete, but every artist can tell
That something in the menagerie of colors is not there. On
This canvass, the lies we live are missing
But no one, not even Picasso can paint that
You rose out of the sea
Like a drowning bubble of air
Gasping, longing for a breath
War-like dark clouds in tow
fingerlings of light
And tom-toms doubling as angry drums
You came in silence
A sky's reflection of blue,
A pack of wolves racing to feed
You've announced false comings before
What drove you to do it?
To rain down on pigtails,
Skin as soft as baby's breath,
Five fingers and toes we long for
Smiles worthy of a mothers tears,
A father's touch? Why Them?
They played with you, gave you
Pebbles, grains of sand to eat
Tickled your rotund belly
The salt of the earth, uprooted, wretched
Souls, not knowing, not feeling despair,
Not given bread and water to bathe their palate
They appeared as ants fleeing from angry waters
To the rooftops of their mounds.
Nowhere to go. Only the heavens and the sound
Of forced air rips the air, like rouge clouds,
Winged iron beasts plucking them from their only
Acre, their only picking fields. Why them?
Tear down the wretched spirit of greed
Rain down on dead trees taken from their
Soil and made to shelter greed, lies, and excess
Devour the dark spirits of terror and oppression
Dance among your white caps and retreat
When you have claimed back a kindred spirt
But why so many children, orators, faces of innonence?
Katrina, Katrina, where are you now? Resting among
Thieves, giblet clinkers, and teeter totters. Rise you
in search of more light to bring.