New Never Is - Charles Wood

New never is... (Charles Wood) We are but voyeurs, peering through the iris of the painter’s eye’s recording details of a scene not meant for sharing, when wealth and power are kith and kin of the common man, and rank hath neither meaning nor memory or power over the passions, the needs of youth, the sway of love, the slip of flesh on flesh, the scent of earth, the consequence. Do you not feel the crackle of fear and violence, smell as I do shame and desperation, comprehend the role of each of the players by the masks they wear? Imagine if you will the hours sure to follow: the actions dictated by convention; the disregarded pleas; the assignment of blame; the mean whispers; the banishment; the unchangeable fortunes. If only it were true that love will triumph instead of being mere frayed threads of duty. At last the artist looks away from the unfortunate scene, quelling memories far too close for comfort. For Isaiah Zerbst’s contest.