Trapped On Canvas
The dark canvas sits idly on the crooked easel,
malignant storm clouds threaten the rising sun,
hopeful rays bestow light upon the tortured weasel
that struggles to find reality within the framed run.
Despondent eyes that catalytically impale a presage
for all, that look beyond the innocents of the moment,
eyes that hint of yesterday, yet today speak a message.
A request, a languishing gesture, all without improvement
and transferred to this casual viewer with deadly movement.
© Harry J Horsman 2020
Copyright © Harry Horsman | Year Posted 2020
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