Alien in the Artwork
If God forgets you,
did you really exist?
The landscape painted
around my life
loses a dimension
and falls flat before me.
Perception is lost
and I fall prey
to the illusion of depth
as roads become walls
trapping me between frames.
Familiar strangers
speak in stop-action
disappearing when they turn
to talk amongst themselves
(abruptly re-appearing
when they turn again to face me).
Desperate for perspective,
I run to the edge of the canvas,
only to find my flesh
periodically rip in neat seams
as I get paper-cuts
from people in profile.
Surveying the scene,
I realize these shoal souls
with tinny voices
are not the foreigners in this land
and that I have become
the alien in the artwork
desperately seeking depth
in a shallow world.
4 comments:
What wonderful imaginative images!!!I see them passing in front of my eyes.... like a film.
Your poems are so powerful Max!
I can imagine choreographies with many of them.
Thanks and wow!!
yet another beautiful poem. i love the way the stanzas build up for the conclusion. as andrea said, it is very powerful.
i wonder, aren't we all aliens trapped in the artwork we ourselves have created? i, too, wish to achieve liberty. the papercuts on my own soul are proof to this.
i can't wait for your next poem! ^____^
It pays
(and it pains)
to be different
(or to be an outcast)
by choice
(or by sheer inequity of circumstances).
^_^
p.s.
These images you create to complement your poems are faaaantastic.
Visual Poet -- you are.
When lines and words meet in perfect symmetry... when does the artist and the poet standout from each other?
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