Shadow lands

The poem cowered
in the dark corner
as does an animal behind a tree
feeling hidden
and safe
in error.

In the open, there was everything
that had been muttered
and nothing more could be said
in translation
of such inspirations
outlined in full color.

Grey and subdued
reflected in the blinded panes
so struck silent was the poet
when words
couldn't convince any body-
lighter was ever better.




Painting by Gwen John [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Muted Miranda

It is clear
we are obscure.

You can relax.
It is right to let it go-
and by the way,
you never had control
autonomously anyway.

Listen,
I know you hear
the same eerie prophecy,
drowned in echoed epiphanies,
or floating on fantasies
of everlasting
We Were Here
dwelling in fear
and drawing it out
by quarters
intones.

Why we comply-
we know not
everything was true.

All will pass
all the same
as though
blue were something
new-yet there is nothing
we can do
but witness.

We have the right
to remain silent
left behind an
afterthought
with guilt
by association
lurking alone
for the safety of Others.



Painting By Pompeo Molmenti (1819-1894), The Arrest of Filippo Calendario, 1874 (FineArtAmerica) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.