Dark. Very dark. We do crucify ourselves and those around us… A very sad piece.
Just curious, There seemed to be a metaphor hiccup. In one stanza we are on a highway. In the next stanza we are enclosed by a wall of our own making… They seem to be conflicting visions, unless that was what you intended… 
I agree, JT, dark and desolate. Rainey, I’d like to hear a little more about what went into writing this, if you’d feel comfortable sharing?
Fascinating, rainey.
Now which came first? The painting, biography, or the works?
JT, you are indeed right. Definitely some metaphor mixing there, unintentional. Hmm…not sure what to do about that.
I came across something recently, Anita by philosopher/theologian Peter Abelard (1079-1142). He wrote (essentially) that Christ’s death was as bloody as it was so as to elicit compassion, the cornerstone of Christianity. And nothing less than love itself is lit by the spark of compassion. According to this view (whether or not one takes a literal or metaphorical reading of the gospels, presumably), it’s no coincidence that the death was particularly gruesome. We come to God (Christ) not in fear, not in admiration, not even in awe, so much as by the better angels of our compassionate natures. By love. “By no other means could men be so effectually turned from sin and moved to love God” (Abelard). And so I was thinking about this cornerstone of the Christian faith, and how difficult it is in practice. Often times compassion seems impossible to me.
So I sat down to write a poem about compassion. I’m not really sure what I ended up with, though, and once written, I think a poem’s meaning belongs entirely to the reader anyway,
sangrain! It’s always good to see you and I’m always wondering where you go off to during those long stretches when you’re not around. I’m imagining you’re up to some kind of questionable activity that keeps you on the run, just a step or two ahead of the law, hiding in the shadows and using assumed names, unable to get to your computer to see what rainey’s written lately, but keeping your eyes always on the prize, knowing that next year at this time you’ll be safe in Costa Rica, safe from the authorities, and safe, too, from the mob guys whom you double-crossed, all for the love of a woman and ten million dollars in stolen diamonds (or paintings, or gold. Or gold-painted diamonds. Or something). It’s the romantic in me.
Romantic, rainey? If only. Dipping diamonds in gold can be quite demanding, and messy … especially on the run. I try to keep it simple.
Now, where did I leave that woman? Heloise!? HELOISE!!!? That woman will be the castration of me.
Great stuff, rainey. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go dip the agent’s daughter, turned mob enforcer’s girlfriend (getting back at dad), in golden diamonds.