Master of the Painting

by Mo   Apr 16, 2008


I had put him there
I had willed it, and it had unfolded like a napkin
weightless and thin
skin like paper, fragile in the darkness

His legs, discarded to the side like a broken bicycle
Feathered hair, given to the wind, teasing, twisting
Teeth knocked into submission, scattered
crooked piano smile against the black asphalt

Those stubby fingers, spread out like
fallen soldiers, stilled from their marching
Deep blood ran from his body
fleeing for its life, searching for a host

Who said there was no beauty in death?
Orange peel sky
Mercury moon, shining, melting
with the trickery of the eye

I was the victorious one
he was the center
yes, HE was the masterpiece of this painting
that burned itself into my existence

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Latest Comments

  • 9 years ago

    by Sourav

    I loved your poem! What a brilliant description you've given. It's an amazing piece of writing. Just wonderful!

  • 9 years ago

    by Sea2Summit

    A Picasso !!!

  • 9 years ago

    by sibyllene

    This is superbly disturbing, dear. It's beautiful in a horrific way - which is something that you allude to in the .. I almost said "painting." In the poem. I'm wondering where your inspiration came from...

  • 9 years ago

    by Jordan

    Oh, god. The word selection in this poem makes my brain overflow with delight. Imagery wasn't used as a tool but an entire machine to pump out endless visions. This, my friend, is a masterpiece. It's sooo wonderfully disturbing that it acually brings beauty to the pile of rubble that is some person left on the ground.