Model Man

A model man
But she
To him
Nothing more, an ornament
Unknown to her
A confession of guilt
Lust to the hilt
Meant nothing
True beauty is elusive
And precious
It is fragile
And it is progressive
And no red carpet will lead
Any hunting hand
Anywhere
For money cannot stretch
And it cannot bridge
Vacuums in the minds
Of the hollow
So how ever many models
may the rich man buy
He will consistently find
passion pass by
leaving brown leaves indeed
atop the wing of autumn gales
a magnificent rider, yet
missing feed, He becomes dry
The salt of the eye in teardrop
Lie
His pitiful emptiness
Yet pity not, give way to compassion
For the misled man wanted only love
He the misguided, the starved yet provided,
Only wanted love.
Do not anger at his riches
Or trophy heads of Barbie hair
Do not close your eye to marble lairs
You will find him there
Kneeling on polished stone
Further up the hall, his throne
Vacant, not even a warm seat
Disowned
Hanging his epitaph
A spiro-graph of emotion

He left a long time ago.




By Peter Crompton 02.35 17th August 2007