An ekphrastic poem, on The Scream by Edvard Munch painted in 1893.

I wish I had known,

What made this man scream so loud,

By the beach alone.


Was it the sun that went to bed,

Spreading its red and orange bliss,

While the light within him is already dead.


Or maybe it was the dark blue tone,

Of an endless water stream,

Towards a future unknown.


It might have been those men leaving him behind,

Further and further- creating a gap,

To his distress completely blind.


There are moments when I am too over thrown,

By the harsh reality of this so called home.

So many people, but no one is there,

And all I want is just one that truly cares. 

The End

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