Because I will not get it out of my head otherwise.

[green_dreams]

Half masonry, half pain; her head
From which the plaster breaks away
Like flesh from the rough bone, is turned
Upon a neck of stones; her eyes
Are lidless windows of smashed glass,
Each star-shaped pupil
Giving upon a vault so vast
How can the head contain it?

The raw smoke
Is inter-wreathing through the jaggedness
Of her sky-broken panes,and mirrored
Fires dance like madmen on the splinters.

All else is stillness save the dancing splinters
And the slow inter-wreathing of the smoke.

Her breasts are crumbling brick where the black ivy
Had clung like a fantastic child of succour
And now hangs draggled with long peels of paper
Repeating still their ghosted leaf and lily.

Grass for her cold skin's hair, the grass of cities
Wilted and swaying on her plaster brow
From winds that stream along the streets of cities:

Across a world of sudden fear and firelight
She towers erect, the great stones at her throat,
Her rusted ribs like railings round her heart;
A figure of dry wounds--of winter wounds--
O mother of wounds; half masonry, half pain.

-- "London, 1941" from Shapes & Sounds, Mervyn Peake

Comments

[amazon-syren.livejournal.com]

Wow.

[oni-neko.livejournal.com]

that is very cool. makes me wish i was a better artist becuse there's things I want to try painting.