Barbed Seduction

the fresh steamed suit
knows that light
awaits its movement
to render the hues
of its silk threads
ever so proper for his entrance

clinking crystal and perfumed air
fill the gilded atmosphere
where privilege wanders among
fraudulent pleasure seekers
feasting upon the wall and pedestal trophies
tempting insatiable senses of ownership addiction

in the world of chaffed hands
made calm by few coins
tucked beneath
an ever stooped body
many continue to spin the cocoons of
tomorrow's adornment for the gluttonous

they too deserve to peer at interlaces of another kind
the paint-layered canvases upon a gallery wall
those woven carriers of beauty often foreign
to the eyes and fingers that harvest
and weave the fine silk
of the man's blue threads
who now moves with cunning aplomb
among the spoils

he cares not of the life fire that plies steel upon steel
or the exhausted arms that wield hammer and chisel of reshaped granite
certainly not the fingers of the loom blending rainbow threads
for vibrating quiet tremors of color and light
upon intimate silence

is art's birth not only the beginning but the end?
the only realm that knows  
the infinite grace of imagination
where creation cares not
of the auction power of the gavel
or work's enslavement by the privileged behind their castle walls

of course beneath the guise of champagne and charming smiles
the indulgent think otherwise
until sometime down the road
fate delivers the hidden costs of their appetite
and upchucked despair and manufactured remorse  spew forth for sympathy

why should we care for those
whose insatiable voracity
for trophydom
has delivered them
into the open arms
of pain's chameleons
where barbed seduction feeds

upon the never healing wounds