Caravaggio's Final Plea
culling Rothko black, the severed head
a line, half-lit, a lantern drip's
the delicate pool of mortal sin
the plea of what's life without bread
which road seeks absolution
reveals the truth in his perfect skin
his lips gaping teeth potted like tombs
our age is different and throbs a gentle scowl
we stare forward in raw intensity
let the other-half sag wounded
veins severed and hanging low
calling let genius alone be gospel
the road to heaven drips straight
but paths returning--violent states
great i dig it alot!
cool, thanks
I like it, i havent done poetry for a while, but this is great!
thank you, kindly
Beautiful choice of words, like a painting with hidden symbols throughout
thank you for the thoughtful response--would have said so earlier, but wifi issues