Too dirty! Too ungodly!
Too iconic, like some unthinkable
Beast leaping out a child’s throat
Wielding its claws as switchblades,
(Or bullets or bombs)
Planting red lips upon the sleeping
Bringing innocence to its knees.
Too much, God damn it!
Too rich! Too immeasurable,
Like a pedophile’s rancid erection
Penetrating a child’s flaccid faith
Etched within youth’s center;
They’ll choose not to speak of it;
A secret... censored between fleshes.
A voice hollowed out,
Suppressed like a fearless work of art;
Too dirty! Too ungodly! Too iconic!
Who needs such art, such temptation?
(Flesh without cover)
Can’t have the commoners thinking such
Rigid ideas; might cause a mutiny…
Let us have cockle shells
And other silent dreamings;
Not essentials like art and reflection.
No! Too difficult! Too insurmountable;
A child’s dream or a mother’s breast;
Best keep such things under wraps,
Hidden where they belong.
Too filthy! Too profane!
Too iconic like some naughty child
Jumping out the belly of a beast
Wielding his mind as a paintbrush
(Or a pen or a dance),
Moving his thoughts over the nobility
Bringing them to their knees.
© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman
(To see the work that inspired this poem please visit Ben Heine's wonderful blog...)
