The Renaissance Man (Charm)
(What worth has beauty if it is not seen? - Italian Proverb)
Lying in the house across the road,
Through the green front door below the gaping windows set to shut,
Through the hall and under the urban stairs,
Lies a room made out of gold.
Shut away and told to be quiet by day and night,
Through transient ages has been noticed by wakened eyes from a view just out of sight.
From inside a head that is burning
And a heart yearning to reside in youth
In spite of knee length strands of hair,
These head lights spy a secret
Buried underground.
A task has been taken, to uncover poor Charm, the Renaissance soul,
Hidden in the troves in the room made out of gold.
His knowledge lies in literature and his head made out of dust.
In him activity reigns,
Courtly prowess stained upon his memory
That is stamped into every wall made out of gold.
An old starry eyed ambition, that was easy to scorn
And coughed on thrice fold, is tonight reborn.
For what good is this countenance, refined with an artistry
Worthy of Michael The Great, when hidden from humanity?
To what merit did they paint his face with such allure
Only to lock it up alone for unknown purpose?
For cruelly, eager hands bestowed poor Charm
Unto a cell lined with years and red Bordeaux
Where neither Godly nor mortal head lights could revere his untold tenets,
Nor lend cowardly sneers to Charm’s miserable fate,
Forever shamed within a golden frame in a room made out of gold.
The other paintings have on them families,
Men in the middle and women to the right, in the wakened eyes’ mind,
Speaking of power and of greed,
Of arguments not resolved but captured in the stroke of an era,
Like a golden age that will keep returning,
With every blink of a not quite forgotten need.
But these wakened eyes have spied him out
And are waiting across the road.
They dare not knock upon the door,
Lest Fate, in Her hellish jealousy,
Beat the head they grieve in
And relish the chance to imprison Charm and leave him
Forever shamed in the Golden frame in the room made out of gold.
*
Entry for A.Broken.Mess's poetry competition
Lying in the house across the road,
Through the green front door below the gaping windows set to shut,
Through the hall and under the urban stairs,
Lies a room made out of gold.
Shut away and told to be quiet by day and night,
Through transient ages has been noticed by wakened eyes from a view just out of sight.
From inside a head that is burning
And a heart yearning to reside in youth
In spite of knee length strands of hair,
These head lights spy a secret
Buried underground.
A task has been taken, to uncover poor Charm, the Renaissance soul,
Hidden in the troves in the room made out of gold.
His knowledge lies in literature and his head made out of dust.
In him activity reigns,
Courtly prowess stained upon his memory
That is stamped into every wall made out of gold.
An old starry eyed ambition, that was easy to scorn
And coughed on thrice fold, is tonight reborn.
For what good is this countenance, refined with an artistry
Worthy of Michael The Great, when hidden from humanity?
To what merit did they paint his face with such allure
Only to lock it up alone for unknown purpose?
For cruelly, eager hands bestowed poor Charm
Unto a cell lined with years and red Bordeaux
Where neither Godly nor mortal head lights could revere his untold tenets,
Nor lend cowardly sneers to Charm’s miserable fate,
Forever shamed within a golden frame in a room made out of gold.
The other paintings have on them families,
Men in the middle and women to the right, in the wakened eyes’ mind,
Speaking of power and of greed,
Of arguments not resolved but captured in the stroke of an era,
Like a golden age that will keep returning,
With every blink of a not quite forgotten need.
But these wakened eyes have spied him out
And are waiting across the road.
They dare not knock upon the door,
Lest Fate, in Her hellish jealousy,
Beat the head they grieve in
And relish the chance to imprison Charm and leave him
Forever shamed in the Golden frame in the room made out of gold.
*
Entry for A.Broken.Mess's poetry competition