Edvard Munch’s “The Scream”:
Taken by an Attack
Back to the wall since 1893,
My palms fastened against my oblong cheeks,
I watch you stare and question, ponder why.
You question: “hmm, now what’s all this about?
What does this mess of noise and color mean?
Perhaps he is insane, and screams at his
Reality that is distorted by
His own perception, which mirrors his form
In all its bends and swirls of darkened paint?
Or does he represent one’s naked, bald
Humanity, while others hide in shade
Of soothing hats, afraid of the bare truth?
Maybe the answer’s simple, not abstract:
It’s just he has agoraphobia
Or acrophobia and fears of fall-
Ing off the cliff, or fears the vast expanse?
Is it his pondering that drives him mad,
Or does there lurk a real danger, one off
The canvas, one that will tear him apart?”
You ask me whom I’m screaming at and what,
If anything, I’m saying. Well, here goes:
I scream at you, and what I scream is “Stop!”