Note: Ekphrasis of Edvard Munch’s The Scream, After Linda Pastan’s Carnival Evening. This is a poem I wrote when I was in college, but I tweaked it a bit

Despite the golden waves of high noon,
Rushing through the painting with the eye of vivid sunlight,
Two strangers in the background were no more
than whispered shadows beneath the soundless eternity,
identities lost at sea.

Despite the whirling waters, so filled with harmony,
Curving upwards like a captivated mortal,
Speechless, yearning, enchanted–
its translucent body barely touching the divine light.

Despite what could be the painting’s subject–
a face imbibing the serene song
echoing through this transcendental world.
Instead, the skeletal face screams
of once silenced horrors unjustified by coherent words,
as if the whole world
was drowning him in the cacophony of meaning.

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