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The Web Poetry Corner - Philip Claude Andermann - Teenager



Philip Claude Andermann

(note - Michelangelo's Pieta = very beautiful sculpture
of "Virgin Mary" with dead Christ in her arms)
(in World Fair exhibition, seemed to be in ghostly
(heavenly?) limbo)

Michelangelo's Pieta:
eternally pale and slender...
a universal symbol of suffering, love and the
inseparability of life and death;
of the painful bond
of sympathy among the family of man
lost in limbo.

A son sacrificing himself for his father now in heaven
so as to be reborn
.. A MAN!
and arise from hell
and from his mother's arms,
and beyond the wearying chains of his old destiny,
and seeking to CARVE OUT
a new destiny, to LIVE
in history
portraying human triumph
available to all. But his true spirit was not reborn
to grow in another, was
chained in interpretations
and lost, in limbo.

It seemed an association was evoked within the twilight
of my mind,
by an artist's incredible struggle,
of the naked essence
of a single person's frustrated struggle
for world peace:

looking like a vagabond,
a burden of worry to my mother,
was unable to struggle above destitute unhappiness
all around me,
invading me.
I had dreams of evoking beauty and love
but they were constantly shattered by reality
with its contradictions
into nightmares of confusion.

How could I create beauty among men?
I had no friends and in my heart was all alone.
All I could do was brush ever so lightly
against other lost souls, who seemed beautiful to me,
and shy away again guiltily.

In this world it seemed any beauty was always
associated with pain.
In my life, in front of me, all around.
Something inside me cried out,
"Mankind, I hate
you for your cuelty."
Something inside me cried out,
"Mankind, what can I do for you?"
Mankind, I would die for you!
But what is my life worth to you?"
I was seeking meaning in this world,
a means to resolve contradictions,
seeking a life of purpose and true mercy.
Not finding it, I was lost
in limbo.

this pain will create profound beauty,
radiant manhood forged out of self-doubt,
which more then the living death of the Pieta or Cross
can cure, transform
that pain in others.
What Christ could not truly share
I must.

To visit all of Philip Claude Andermann's poems, click HERE

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