Four Portraits

There's Arnold
 With his back to me
 Wandering down through an ill-lit street
 I'm curious
 And would like to entreat
 Is it inspiration or self-defeat
 And from the corner his figure fades
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 And should I follow or retrograde
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 There's Anton
 With a furrowed brow
 A crooked finger and non-plussed scowl
 There's symmetry
 He will soon endow
 Crafting tone rows with his head faced down
 If I seek pleasure in melody
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 Have I betrayed best tendencies
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 Oh Alban
 We part our hair the same
 Posing next to a drawer and frame
 At 23 and two years of age
 Your work is tasteful your life's urbane
 As for the despot's who bring you down
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 A century later they're still around
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 And so I sit by the window sill
 Feeling sad, the questions linger still
 I'm trying to decide if it's fake or real
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 I'm all alone
 In a noisy throng
 Nameless and ageless, all strung along
 Nobody else can name this song
 Mispronunciations and words spelled wrong
 At times like these I think I'm on my own
 A new self-portrait of my own