The Image
There are images
that seem too much,
billowing out
with menace to envelope
our meager scale
and overwhelm.
Take those
of an age born
in a blinding ball
of heat, a city laid waste
beneath a fiery sun,
the seared skin
and featureless faces
of people wandering
aimlessly through the frames
of a black and white film.
And two generations on,
more lethal offspring
of that age are still
incubating in silos
waiting to be born.
The image has escaped
into the absurd, immensity,
born in the confines
of the human brain,
has been let loose,
rolling down a hill
like an ever growing ball
chased by children.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2023
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