The Painted Man – Poetry

The Painted Man

By J.A Weymouth

 

Vile, vile you all are

but you have never been understood.

 

Rile something over time

and your decadence will come out.

 

Who is to say your face is not mine?

There is a feeling that it covers and

breathes us all in.

 

Then the painted man,

Standing erect,

Will come.  Come over and

Tease us with his stick.

 

Bloodied/wet – unlike some

Conscious of a beating drum –

open to each other.

 

Others chose to ignore it.

And go with the painted man.