COMPOSITION IN WIND SUN AND TIME

rehabilitating a distorted perception

wind lashes the flesh of the subject

firmly held in it’s cyclone size hands

as a salty serpent's tongue

licks the wounds till the canvas gives in

tortured, bled out, the child looks up

to Mother’s glowing face

an offers the art into her care

another faded cadaver

for the psychoanalyst to picnic upon

stitched dreams of grandeur

maelstroms of nightmarish carnage

and here is where I stumble to rise up

lost in the hallway of my imagination

wallpapered in ethereal decay

where blistered blue paint, a shoreline to be reached

where rust dripping from exposed nail heads, salvation

Disturbed -'THE SOUND OF SILENCE'