Analysis of Left Out

“Left Out…” (a Poem For Alessio)
~ Deo

I sat in front of the window today upon receiving unwelcome news but didn't dare look out.
The once reprehensible mimicking concerto of contorted clowns lay silent,
no longer caring now what, from this plate or that, other clowns so brazenly took out.

While imposters rummaged through couplets and quatrains in a mindless attempt at justifying and sorting out
that which was real from that which was meaningless, unnecessary, untimely, unimaginable, inappropriate
or just plain left out;

Yet from this window of abject solitariness there was never any illusion, never a moment of contradiction, purposefulness or self doubt
as to why the imposters couldn't face up to the music, or why the clowns were never ever
really very much in doubt,

A book, a man's life, an anti-myopic mind of a spirited and spry esprit de corps
now awaits the verdict in silence,
suspended on an outlook,
from some unknown angelic lookout,
before coming back in or in one heavenly flame of light
forever inexplicably going out.

The ‘real' light from which kept all those silly contorted clowns and vague imposters
from running and scurrying aimlessly all about,
that kept any illusion, all self doubt,
any and all unremitting un-elucidated, inconsequential fallout or unintentional ill purpose
from coming out
and reemerging undesirably in route;

so as to finally admitting to missing the light or to confessing about what's real,
or about what's really coming about.

It's all been meticulously farmed out.
Sound judgment from highly respected and learned authors;
an affectionate and genuine calling off of the hounds;
and there's no use anyhow now
in trying to separate the imposters from the clowns.

Either way, with or without,
all now in serious jeopardy;
all now without any rhyme or reason of turning on a single empty page
around and about;
before basking in the sunlight in one interminable heavenly flame,
at the window of God,
where the quatrain meets the couplet
in one endlessly poetic literary refrain
before being called upon and unambiguously told flat out,

'Either way, with or without,
you're authenticity as a poet,
as a human being,
as a kind, caring, gentle, refined and loving soul,
and as a beacon of inspiration and aspiration to us all
will not go unforgotten
or be in any way disproportionately in-appropriated, mistaken or measured out;
and will never ever again be mitigated, underestimated,
or in any other way unheralded, unappreciated or left out…'

As it is I among others I have no doubt
who are now being left out
by your absence.