Your Great Wall of Fame


Lia Kalforian


A beautiful white canvas you were given.
A beautiful white canvas you abused.
You dipped in blood red,
And hung on your wall;
Your infamous wall
Of butchered animal heads hung pretty,
Of guns and swords polished and placed ever so neatly.
How you saunter here and there,
With your chest puffed up
And your nose up in the clouds, Your great wall of fame, You exclaim.
Do you not see that it so evidently screams nothing but shame?

Your great wall of fame, you exclaim,
As you light up your most prized possessions,
Paintings of your biggest accomplishments
Of aggressive brushstrokes,
Of red and black splattered all over, Hung under a bright spotlight.

One small glance to see the audience gathered below.
One small glance to notice the sweat dripping down their faces. One small glance to notice the silhouette of three in the corner, A family.
One small glance to notice the worried wrinkles lining up the mother’s face
To notice the markings all over the father’s body–
Bruises.
One small glance to notice the trace of dirt a single tear has left on the daughter’s left cheek.

Alas you stand there still,
128 storeys high,
With a clean velvet rope denying them, And glass just thick enough to prevent a small glance.
So you stand there still. Your great wall of fame, you exclaim,
With an arrogant smirk across your face,
Arms folded and back turned,
As the red drips on the marble floor. One modern Picasso you must feel. Are you proud? Shall we kneel?