April 26, 2015 | Posted by Peter Jakobsen | PETER'S WRITING, Poetry | 1 Comment |

"Isle of the Dead" by Arnold Böcklin (1880)

He felt he had lost the edge,

Somewhere along the way.

He thought he could only improve,

That his powers were permanent,

But he badly misjudged his talents

And the transient mood of the throng,

Woke to find he had lost the edge,

Somewhere along the way.

So he glanced more sharply, more often

At the image growing closer before him;

Rubbed the surface of the mirror with vigor,

To gain clarity of perception,

But with deep disappointment, he realized

That the portrait grew ever still fainter,

One day it would blacken and vanish,

Somewhere along the way.

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