Four Portraits

There's Arnold

With his back to me

Wandering down through an ill-lit street

I'm curious

And would like to entreat

Is it inspiration or self-defeat

And from the corner his figure fades

And should I follow or retrograde

There's Anton

With a furrowed brow

A crooked finger and non-plussed scowl

There's symmetry

He will soon endow

Crafting tone rows with his head faced down

If I seek pleasure in melody

Have I betrayed best tendencies

Oh Alban

We part our hair the same

Posing next to a drawer and frame

At 23 and two years of age

Your work is tasteful your life's urbane

As for the despot's who bring you down

A century later they're still around

And so I sit by the window sill

Feeling sad, the questions linger still

I'm trying to decide if it's fake or real

I'm all alone

In a noisy throng

Nameless and ageless, all strung along

Nobody else can name this song

Mispronunciations and words spelled wrong

At times like these I think I'm on my own

A new self-portrait of my own