Father
The razor slid back,
wet black with the cleaving.
Those five days I tried,
to see a sense of myself,
to look beyond my faeries,
to breathe the Arab’s smoke,
deep enough to touch my God.
He is the devil,
he is my devil,
he is my father.
Inspired by Richard Dadd’s portrait of Sir Alexander Morison, his physician whilst at Newhaven. Richard was plagued by visions of faeries, murdered his father and ran off to France and Egypt before being caught and incarcerated. And boy, could he paint.
