Arthur Lubow’s “The Scream” sends spine-tingling shivers, 

A scream so reverberating my heart begins to quiver.

A face so pale, staring directly into my eyes, 

Could very well be a poltergeist in disguise. 

The foreground figure freezes in fear, 

The face of his sent to the verge of tears, 

And through pain, anxiety, and anguish, he reels, 

And through disgust lays the last thing he feels. 

The sky lay doused in reds, 

It’s as if the world from above was drowned in dread, 

Birthed and born within inner strife, 

And so begins a long and torturous life. 

Beyond the bridge come twists and curves,

An ode to how life always shambles and swerves, 

Blind eyes turned away from the scene, 

Echoes horrors that humanity never could’ve foreseen. 

However, the man’s scream rests alone, and in pain,

Voice unheard, the man has nothing more to gain.

A miserable life, with people, kept apart, 

Renders his cry alone, able to pierce within my heart.