Art And Reality Poem by Alexandro Johns

Similar to the light of our days
the black heralds greeted Goya
in the sordid world of the stupid kings;
the dance and the happiness seemed true
but only the scythe was truth.

Now without art
there is a dirty peace as in those kingdoms:
here they govern with a fingernail
and look and see all the bodies.

Where can we escape?

What idea can we unravel?

Do shout calling who?

Is Munch walking on a bridge
to no place.