Dark pigment demonstrates artists skill, illuminating scene,
Lead white, picks out trauma and the cruelty is between.
In subtle darkness Caravaggio adds layers of lust and loathing,
He uses skill his expressions of grief, garbed in religious clothing.

Two inmates watch from prison window, horror in their faces,
Half-hidden, forever in the dark, secured within their places.
I stood before the image, to stare at the bloody signature,
His message held me fast as the gore of tightened ligature.

When weak and weary sets the sun
on my sad, sleeping soul,
the blood-red moon does wake and rise
to comfort and console.
 
Where willows weep, and dungeons deep
depress my dreaming mind,
the nightingale, poor prince of pain,
sweet song, for me, does find.
 
When I am groaning, girt with grief,
a star from ancient times
breaks through, with beam, to light my cell,
to prove to me life rhymes!
 
Where lonely, lies this shipwrecked tar
upon a sea-swept shore,

You are one screwy dude
Tried but not trued
Some hold you near and dear
Some think you all about fear

To some you are helpful
as well as thoughtful,
but others will see soon,
you leave no thought room

You are not for the fearful
For them you are their earful
Information watershed
Brains emptied - they had bled!

Once a kingdom, now a shack
With little to no light at all
Once guarded, now abandoned
With freedom abused
Once full of life, now dead
With empty people
Once mind opening, now lawless
With consequences to pay

But really, what changed?
Governing changed!
That’s what’s up!
Unfortunate Governing
With much clowning and pretense
So much is unaddressed and ignored
Causing shattering
Of a mirror into million pieces