Gestalt Poem by Lucius Sulla

Of painting a precocious picture,

The artist's mind hath no stricture.


Seeing now a distressed bird,

A cup of melancholic wyrd.



A lady lone by an endless river,

Of her own tears, a dread sliver.


In lost hope and endearing pain,

Wandering aimless in bloody rain.



Sons of darkness, daughters of plight,

Thy hopes of flight, in schizoid night.


Behold the old man, crouched and broken,

Waiting for The Reaper to send his token.



Witness the child impaled by knife,

No words, but a vision of strife.


Sons of brightness, daughters of light,

Where art thou, in vivid blight?



Near lies a mountain in hoary ruin,

Far lies the wine in faithful brewin'.


Fields of green, farms of hope,

Mushroomed by the will to cope.



Beauty of sorrow, debris of joy,

The quelled mind, a nostalgic toy.


Burnt bridges of burnished dreams,

Shining stars, coruscant screams.


Cast the die of thy Heaven and Hell,

Images drawn from yon bottomless well.