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On the Gallows -Stairs
by Ken HarnischThe small stone steps took him to his fate
And he marveled at the craftsmanship
How the squared-off stones were so bloody pink
And the mortar white, and lathered into crevices
So perfect that the angles of their middles were
The same, brick after brick, step after step
He wondered if the craftsman, whom he saw as
Some old man from the other side, ever realized
What his stone work would come to in the latter
Days, but then he realized it didnt matter, the
Art is in the hand, not the device, and the uses that
Prosaic men put things of beauty to, even the old man
Must have known, were beyond the realm of comprehension.
Did he go on to monuments, the ill-fated prisoner
Wondered to himself, and if he did, would he spell
His name right when the contract came to
Chisel it in some slab of cheap gray stone.
05/15/2003 Posted on 05/15/2003
Copyright © 2024 Ken Harnisch
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 05/15/03 at 04:55 PM Refreshingly different exercise in prosaic descriptiveness Ken. |
| Posted by Kate Demeree on 05/15/03 at 06:40 PM WOW.... If I had not read much of your work I would be bowled over at the ability to put yourself in such a place. Still it is wonderfuly written and has a deep silence and resign to it. A feeling that although the heart gives up the mind continues to go on. I rather like it. |
| Posted by Rhodora M Fitzgerald on 05/16/03 at 12:40 PM I'm "wowed" once again by your craftiness, this was really different. I like it! :o) |
| Posted by Kristine Briese on 05/16/03 at 10:10 PM Outstanding perspective. Excellent piece! |
| Posted by Charles E Minshall on 05/17/03 at 04:06 AM Morbid subject but very well done Ken....Charlie |
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