Tales Hinged On A Portrait Poem by Wesongah David

I saw the face on crayon-based weave,
High cheekbones and sweet mauve lips,
I saw the struggle and the will to battle eve,
And the smile waned by the roughshod seas.
But the eye told more of a jove’s delight.

Lost in a screaming wilderness,
The faint call whispered yonder the water-based,
Falling to hither and sound crayons,
And blood stood still at the tender marvel.
Staring at hindered terrains off the road ahead,
The call ignored at a sounder’s own peril!

A summer’s day wrought to mankind pain,
To never love the bears of a mother’s pain,
Suckled and primed beyond the coming of age,
And innocence coupled on rosy smiles drawn,
Of black pious beauteous elegance withdrawn,
And ball along I did,
To tears I never knew I’d shed!

I saw the face smiling on oil based,
And now I see the face in front of me consoling the whiskers,
Of fifty men on a caravan to Tasmanian illusions,
The rose that told the tale ridiculed beyond measure,
And holding on wailing for the womb of burden,
A misty haze I can’t forget forever!

Making sense of a void left begging,
Filled sanguine ‘in the nudes’ of laughter across,
For I knew not,
And Might never know ever,
The Golden chances of which we now exhibit,
In the gloried pantheon of the greats,
Oil based or water based,
The tale will alter a course nature can’t reign in!

W.© 2009