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