A Bit Damned
Morning in the middle of stick season.
You stand at the edge of the quarry.
It is cold, but bright. The sky is an empty blue.
It is a matter-of-fact blueness,
neither spectacular nor dull,
not unlike your emotional makeup this morning,
making you a perfect match for this quarry,
grey in color, grey in spirit.
But not discontent. You are accustomed to greyness.
The never quite brightness. It has taught you
the shades of grey, far more of them
than most people would imagine.
Shadows have shadows. Shadows have light.
And so standing here is not unlike a Botticelli,
only with a different palette,
the only one you have this morning.
Familiar. Persistent. And a bit damned.
About this poem
A poem mostly about depression. About how we choose to see things. And a bit about the beauty in our lives that is just there, if we can see it. Poetry is never about just one thing.
For those of you who are not big art students, Botticelli is one of my favorite Renaissance painters. Along with Titian. Their colors are breathtaking. The image below is a detail from his painting Lamentation over the Dead Christ, and the colors are typical of him.
The picture above was taken at the quarry just down from my house.