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Unfamiliar Despair
Justice is done.
The killers
walked
behind
the
pale blue and rawly red
gaze
at the ceiling
of the bank
with marble floors
and pillars
decorated with mythological figures.
Now
the painter was
executed
with the pistol
in the head.
The bullet smashed
through his brain.
Before all this occurred
their peculiar origin
traced a peculiar pattern.
A summer.
Forty years passed
which
passed before his eyes.
His first lover,
he had most madly loved
exhausted him
as she lectured
him
of
his dying mother
in Sicily.
He did not remember
seeing a woman leap to her death
just days after
his father
kicked
three police men
when he grew angry
when
the boys of the neighborhood-
an oppression
chose sides.
Being a jerk.
To him.
But now
having survived
the army
of a spectator war
of life
he
writes
at the end of
unfamiliar
despair.
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This found poem is the product of a recent English project, where in I took the lines out of two short stories, and an AP essay prompt. The poem starts off with the painter being killed by a couple of men in a bank. It then shifts to the painters interesting past. So, I hope you enjoy it!