(February/'47 / Connecticut, USA)


Adorned along the walls.
In hallways of opulence.
Hung are golden framed imitations.
Of a pretentiousness,
One born into it...
Grows to know and follows.
As a life to live.
Mocking to represent,
A shallow presentation of it.
Wherever one goes.
Feeling detached.
Insecure and never attached.
To a thoughtfulness not taught to feel.
Nor what it means,
To be a real human being.
And redacted.
Empty without substance.
From the facts of life.
One creates to imitate and deludes.

by Lawrence S. Pertillar

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