by Gerrard Nole
With portals everywhere, what makes my glimpse worthy of anything?
|A triumphant spray of bloodied hands,
Bursting through drowning weaves of wealth -
Jealously apparent, abidance imminent.
The exhibit ignored by a beastly lump,
Carrying bravado too heavy for plastic stallions -
Searching for assurance, finding only penance.
Spring blooms, Autumn ebbs, affections erase;
Jailing two by silence to a terrace -
Watching the mustang, admiring his ignorance.
Ashen clay sheets smoothly above,
Cold and indifferent to the prisoner’s plight,
He watches the artists return to dust,
Expecting the rest.