is centered on so many questions,
that in selfish portraiture is hung
in galleries abandoned - corridor of years,
as curtains are drawn tighter against the fading light
till it becomes so hard to see, what one came
to look upon, till all tint of yearning is bled pale;
so we have to vandalize that which we drew against angst,
this is why it becomes so easy
to lie in years that echo back,
to rituals remembered only - through intervention of twilight loss.
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Author:
Jon Nakapalau (
Offline) - Published: August 13th, 2019 18:12
- Comment from author about the poem: Something new for me
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 5
Offline)
Comments2
Thought provoking write Jon.
Can there be fidelity in lying. Is it lying to others or lying to ourselves that creates the chaos within ourselves.
A question I still struggle with my friend.
Lying... the new truth?
Great dip in to the questioning Jon I liked this
Thank you Andrew - very kind.
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