Like the wrinkled face
of a newborn
and the emerging softness
of pink skin,
the not yet seeing eyes,
invisibly,
gray matter begins to
assert itself,
in silence,
yet the primal cry
deemed so essential
by the onlookers
and wellwishers,
piercing or timid,
as it may be,
only serves to announce,
to put on notice
the giant universe
that there is yet another
little professor,
inquisitive, a unicum
who stepped right into
the very midst of us
and our pettiness,
the warmongering of man
made so much a part of,
in shades of pleasant gray
and applauded by those men
whose image so deceptively reminds
of the belligerence
and falsetto voices
so characteristic of
the moneychangers,
those whose flaccid stems
have long since withered
on the sapless vines of desert hide,
soon they will smile,
upturned the corners
of fresh lips of optimism,
their pupils wide
and keen to change
what must be and so long is overdue.
The end not yet in sight
it takes a lifetime still
to paint a portrait
on a patient canvas
a mirage of sorts,
a mirror of futility
and sadness soon descends
like mist, unseen until the morn,
and yet,
he does not leave in style,
the cry has given way
to shallow breaths
until the reaper takes away
all vestiges of dignity.
Herbert Nehrlich 2
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/vestiges-of-dignity/
