After learning more thouroghly about surrealism through the artwork of Clarence John Laughlin, a photographer during the 1940s. His photographic artwork evokes surrealistic, spiritual, and mystery through the use of monotone colors. As a result from the mood of his photographs, I composed a poem.
There is an existing connection with this stranger
I’m a moth drawn to his flame
His aura radiates danger
He is new in town, no one knows why he came
Something beckons him into my dream
My check is caressed by his cold fingers
I am paralysed watching his obsidian eyes gleam
I quickly wake up in my room where the dark lingers
It’s a dream too deep in my conscious
I take a walk and the streets look the same
Suddenly, I begin to feel nauseous
A car speeds toward me, ready to take blame
The air is poison,the car is closer, I cannot reach for life
It’s the stranger, the pain,and death’s knife
