How much can one be tainted?
From a bit dull to pitch dark,
Where contrast in past and present is stark,
How much can one be tainted?

I suppose I can answer that;
For I've seen the youth that can last,
The moments dragging by and time flying fast,
Which lead to paths perilous and long winding.

Lead us not into temptation, they say.
Deliver us from evil, they say.
What they, however, do not say,
Is why you ought to keep at bay.

I won't say if it's wrong or right.
That is just a subjective lens,
A pedestal for one to see from whence,
But treading those waters can scare or delight.

We all are brought into this world as naive,
Untouched by the barbaric world,
Never having sensed anything untoward,
With curious minds and innocent eyes.

Just like this, was a child born,
Who grew up to be a pleasant sight,
Curls like the sun and skin rosy white,
Like a wondrous sculpture from which eyes can't be torn.

His friend, a painter, who held him really dear,
Almost to the point of worship,
Once took the boy on a fateful trip,
To a person who few should near.

The reason behind my saying so,
Is a really simple logic,
A fire, that's both intriguing and terrific,
Can give life, and can demolish in one go.

Some people are easy to read and comprehend,
Some people you will steer clear of,
Then there are those who at conventions will scoff,
A riddle, which has no beginning or end.

The thing about such persons is that:
Their appeal lies in the unconventional,
An eccentric way of life, almost abnormal,
One never knows where talks with them will arrive at.

The period of youth is like wet clay,
The influences around it leave an impression,
Whether in beliefs or in actions,
Something similar was fated to happen that day.

The young lad was warped into a vortex of unexplored beliefs,
A lifestyle that knew no bounds and customs,
Based purely on the principle of hedonism,
Those meetings turned over a new leaf.

We all make mistakes when young,
The boy also made a wistful wish,
To a creation which his friend painted with great relish,
"May this be the bearer of my fate, about which ballads shall be sung"

Life moved on, days went past,
The lad captured hearts with eternal charm,
But alas! This feeling of love brought him much harm,
And everyday his own actions left him aghast.

The change, though subtle, bore on his mind,
It started as a cruel line around the lips,
Then it was like an inevitable fall after one trips,
When the innocent curiosity is left behind.

He became a mystery for the people,
Yet questioning gazes softened at his sight,
Twas when his friend tried to bring him on the path of right,
And away from the scrutiny of people.

But the thing about perilous paths is,
Once a person starts to trudge it,
The veil of goodness begins to lift,
And the person is trapped as darkness makes him his.

He was gone beyond redemption,
He committed a sin which couldn't be forgiven,
This, however, left him stricken,
Now, to destroy the source of his grief was his determination.

The work that had led him to blind admiration of himself,
The thoughts that showed him the way of vice,
The night was dark and roads buried in ice,
When he last looked into himself.

There it was, in a cold, lifeless room,
Bearing the weight of his sins through time,
He slashed at it, with the clock's chime,
And on him befell a long pending doom.

It was time for him to finally take the role,
Which he had been running from for so long,
Experience consumption and every wrong,
That had been etched onto his soul.

A really pitiful end, I must say,
Beauty shrouded by years of taint,
A majestic canvas that horrendous hues had to paint,
The legend lives as a lesson to this day.

I happen to wonder about it all,
Sometimes when I drift through that hall,
Which holds no life and where shadows crawl,
How did that masterpiece guard something as corrupted as my soul?

********
So this is another poem which is written from the perspective of Dorian Gray's spirit, and a sort of summary of The Picture Of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.

Hope you all like it :D

May the force be with you ✨