Guilt
by VCW
Haunting eyes gazing downward
Being more than tall
Stare into circled cowards
Looking for a fall
Sweat dripping from open pores
Here, where I am now
Can I tell if one hears me
From the halls of "How?"
Will I know if they see me
Painting on my life
I can speak; my tongue is free
Sharp as any knife
Doorknobs squeaking as they turn
Hiding my portrait
As the paint dries, I must learn
More about my fate
Mask lips frozen, but some tell
Secrets that they know
Painted canvas-- dries and bends
I smooth out the bow
To tell one is to tell eight
Eight, tell eight their own
Many voices-- haggard, sharp
Carve upon my bone
Outside the door, stands the news
Waiting to get in
My room within splatter hues
Covers all the sin
Breaking in to look at me
Those with questions stare
They are so blind, but can see
That I really care
There came to me-- a loud shout
Of a voice denied
I must paint the news about
Fear from which I died
VCW
1966
