Michael Coy Poet Sonnet

They Were Dying, Part 7 of 7

Fade Out

Of course an actor must create a role, 
but in a sense, the role will shape the actor. 
How do we, then, identify the factors 
which forge a human being's spiritual pole? 
A work of art their only outward goal, 
a group of people sought the open range. 
So, did they undergo subliminal change, 
or were they damaged goods before? The whole 
ordeal of desert filming may, in fact, 
have served to force the cracks apart, but cracked 
they were, already. As with Howard Hughes, 
perhaps the artifice and real life fused,
though life was bleeding out as Miller typed. 
A swirl of desert dust serves as a "wipe".

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White Wolf March 31, 2017 at 1:25 AM I so enjoy a great sonnet! Well penned mate! Michael Coy March 31, 2017 at 1:46 AM An immense "thank you", my friend!

Darren White March 30, 2017 at 11:47 PM They were damaged goods, all of them, but through cracks the light can glow in. So many writers, poets give us the best of their works because they are/were misfits, broken. I often think that it's THAT that sometimes can create something special, despite brokenness, drugs and booze. Despite damaged goods, used goods and constantly falling down the cracks. We still remember them, we still know.... This comment is for all 7 parts of your poem. Morning, Michael :) Darren White March 31, 2017 at 3:12 AM I've walked the knife, plus I have a good teacher :) Michael Coy March 31, 2017 at 1:49 AM It's spooky how you do it. The whole key to the "big" poem, Pompilia, is precisely this ... it's the broken, the fractured, that permits the light of future growth to penetrate ... how do you do it, Darren?