I’ll defend you to the night’s end, and to the world’s collapse

I’ll defend you to the critic’s slays, and diamond pushers

I’ll defend you to the photographer from the press, and the ladies in dress

 

I’ll defend your wonderful faults and talented beauties

I’ll defend your mistakes and errors, your weaknesses and illnesses

I’ll defend your sadness and loneliness, and let you be yourself

 

I’ll defend your name and the actions you make

I’ll defend your black paintings and the music you listen too

I’ll defend your taste and the diseases you breed

 

I’ll defend your personality and your secrets

I’ll defend your honor and your death

I’ll defend your history and all the work you do

 

I’ll defend you when you are gone, and when you are present

I’ll defend you when you are crawled up in the fetal position, in the corner, or on the doctor’s table

I’ll defend you when your score plays on loud speakers throughout the world’s places of worship

 

I’ll defend your previous lovers and dreams

I’ll defend your impressions and alterations

I’ll defend your movements and realizations

 

I’ll defend you to the side gallerists, and the avid collector

I’ll defend you to the writer’s questions, and the curator’s contact

I’ll defend you to the Holy denials, and the waves of the sea

 

I’ll defend you, forever and ever,

she whispered in my ear,

as the fear I once had,

came true

at 41.

 

© 2002 David Greg Harth

02.09.24.09:36:40@1515NYC