it is addressed thusly:
A vision.
it reads:
In that apartment, the party there
Ceased speech to listen in with care
For a poet's verses bare
On color this he deemed to share:
"White, it is thought, a color fair
Of snow, of light, of purer air
And often things somewhat off
Do its pale moniker doff
Is pearl like white, though sometimes black?
And cream, and bone-white do they lack?
And what of the white of death?
The pallor of flesh alack of breath?
And though black is thought the hue of void
As the sight of light destroyed?
Is white not the blank of unused page?
And what of unrelenting rage?
The clenching fist does show its pale
And red not white, recalls the hale?"
This being spoken, each ear inclined
The poet ceased, a dog then whined
Each lord and lady was there reclined
Had each made up their own mind
And as God's answer to those there
With sudden shudder, did then tear
White-lightning through the darkened air.

1 comment:

  1. Long before the first blank verse
    Was tossed upon the placid page
    Its sickened ink had blackened terse
    A slow and burning, quiet rage.


Messages left under the doormat will be promptly decoded and a response may be issued.