The Flesh

Are my eyes blinded by the midday sun
As ruins covered deep in desert sands
Had I seen you would you be the one
To follow now in seeking foreign lands
Face the sun and feel the strong hot wind
Then live with memories and sore cracked lips
would you now bemoan your swollen tongue
And lips so tight they’ll never sink your ships?

Suffering from sights seen with burnt eyes
Miles trudged on aching blistered feet
The things a man must try before he dies
A man who likes to think he won’t be beat
Ale now he needs for his parched throat
And balm to salve his tender peeling skin
And noise to block out his own final cries
The truth of who he is, is held within

Eventually he lies with all thoughts stunned
Those around sense nought but shallow breath
Not conscious now of anything he shunned
No longer pained nor even fearing death
The earth shall then consume his rotting flesh
and once again we view his sun-bleached bones
Now scattered round beneath the midday sun
He went… but left us everything he owns

The Flesh

Matt Penfold

Joined December 2008

  • Artist
    Notes
  • Artwork Comments 66

Artist's Description

In response to a poem by Cosimopiro

The poem, THE BONES OF POETRY begins with the lines:

“A sketch for you,
If you wish,
to flesh it out
and post.”

The rest of his poem remains intact, forming a skeleton within my poem.

Artwork Comments

  • Cosimo Piro
  • Matt Penfold
  • Mel Brackstone
  • Matt Penfold
  • sandra22
  • Matt Penfold
  • Ushna Sardar
  • Matt Penfold
  • Ushna Sardar
  • Lisa  Jewell
  • Matt Penfold
  • Magnets-Mirrors
  • Matt Penfold
  • rjcolby
  • Matt Penfold
  • nadine henley
  • Matt Penfold
  • funkyfacestudio
  • Matt Penfold
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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