Contemporary art, D.I.D , London, survivor

Genesis

And what of love?

That empty chamber waits.

Condolers weep, rancour falls down their contoured cheeks.

No body here.

They mourn not man, nor woman.

They weep for empty days.

Words left unspoken and horizons not renewed,

lives walked in the shadow of absurdity,

They mourn the empty chambers of their own attention.

Dry inside, hard edged and defined.

A uniformed substitute for a heavenly bed.

No original thought, or sin, do they find inside.

I do not weep, will not mourn.

My chamber is not amongst theirs.

Dug up and defiled it has been burned with crosses and judgements ,

And I have replaced it with you.

We have defrocked it with broken bits of this day and that.

Promises that we avowed not to be broken.

A Death defying salvation,

The embodiment of a new season dawning.

What then of love?

We cannot possess.

Except that time, with it's unfathomable healing will blend it's balm,

And you might one day call me Genesis.

Stephen newell

Beckynewell Art