The painter sits on his throne in the sky,
like a vile donkey judging the putrefied.
His pompous delusions, like rotten grapes,
spew onto pieces of shattered glass,
cutting the core of his beloved blue fish
that sings and dances in the sea below.
And though the painter loves the fish,
he devours him for his morning meal.
Concerned with nothing but his empty belly,
he cowers in the shadow of his manic ambition.
The poet’s eyes are filled with mud,
tainted with illusion of the donkey’s devotion.
He views the putrefied from underneath,
gagging from the smell of their rotten breath.
His cries for justice fall upon the wicked.
While tears stain the grass in the field.
His undiluted heart lay pierced with a fork.
As his devotion rots in a shallow grave.
His echo lives in the madness of the painter.
And his love, dismissed like a trivial chore.
©Shelli Carlisle 2010
*Dedicated to my friend, Jane, thanks for sharing.