They brought you to Rome
To carry the sky
And turn with aplomb
Kaleidoscope spinning, wielding trees

A brisk periwinkle air, drifting in sun shades, not
so much heavier than thy breath

Young man, reaching antiquity
In the old city – warriors emblazed
Polis of counterfeit humanity

Where the palace defines a man,
you waged Great silent War

Throughout the 19th century cradle of nascent industrialization
A breach from entrapment,
feigning natural appearance

Now words of fermented grape
imprinted on the reliquary
separate thy declaration, of “no tone”

Your skeleton dangles,
mummified in the anthologies
Spoken Programs of no-one

Sweet young man
thy fair white skin
Shed into the tomb – the finger

Of eloquent mess
The idolaters’ fable you have but reached- and burst,

Never, ever having fallen
Oh whimsical brush!

And from loneliness of which you were born

Transcending and climbing, gnawing and pulling
Mountaintops of truth

you founded
Ethereal spirits in aesthetic arrival
expectedly, piping and musing!
Produced in reveries
that carried us with your soul

Painting your masterpiece.

11/03/2009

Posted on 11/03/2009
Copyright © 2024 H.M Stevens