The Scream

We're looking at ekphrastic poems in our poetry group and I've already shared my poem The Kiss, so I thought I'd write another one. This one's a bit dark,  but then so is the painting by Edvard Munch.

The Scream

He runs across the wooden bridge
Until his feet can carry him no further.
Stops, head in hands, 
Tries to block out the sounds,
The sight of the flaming sky
Reflected in the harbour's swirling waters, 
Along the handrail by his side.
Tries to ignore the top-hatted gentlemen
Edging slowly closer. 
A scream pours from his mouth,
Grows longer, louder, 
Assumes a beautiful life of its own, 
Until the whole landscape
Melts with his face, in agony. 

© Copyright 2022. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved.


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