Selfishness Poem and...New Version

So... seems I'm writing about sins this year, jealousy et al. A bit strange, and yet a person seizes upon any inspiration and wrings it out. This one is new, recent, like today October 25, 2012.

i've had a picture in my mind. This image of someone in an impressive gallery looking at a painting by a master, expecting perfection and wonder and being shocked by the ugliness and blackness of a noxious mold seeping through and destroying it. It's not clear whether the mold is real or imagined. Is it on the painting, or is it in the mind of the viewer?

Or the mind of the poet, or the reader...I thought it would be interesting to open up the process, as in explaining some of where the idea took root and watching where it branches off to, through a poem like this that is raw and unfinished.

I'm still evaluating everything.
Punctuation, or not. Title, or not.
Placement and selection of words...haven't spent enough time finding just the right word to give the level of suspense and shock I'm after.

And so if you have any thoughts or ideas or comments, please, speak your mind!
What image do you see when you encounter selfishness, in yourself or others?
It's a universal and inescapable problem. Anyone who says anything else is selling something. 

Selfishness

Oozes like creeping black mould on a masterpiece.

You take a step closer to an ancient Renaissance,

a small smile of wonder.

Hues, dabs, streaks, plays of light, all strokes of genius!

Priceless.

Up close and inspecting your smile fades,

Gradually…

a frown gives way to fright –

Grim and dreadful.

And the suspected pestilence grows

Noticeable to your wide and blameless eyes

The darkest spot just shadows

Wasn’t it, now spilling like ink through parchment

Stained through.

 

A speck of infection renders beauty undone

The love tainted, the honour wasted

Mother hated daughter jaded photos faded

 

We survive and pretend it doesn’t exist, the picture is perfect

And smile and smile and crumble inside

Our motives are true and our hearts are, too

I don’t see yours, and you don’t see mine

And using each other, all of the time.


                 (THAT was the original. This is the 
              current version. Which do you like better?)

 

Selfishness

Oozes

creeping black mould on a masterpiece.

Italian Renaissance,

Oh smile of wonder.

Hues, dabs, plays of light, strokes of genius!

 

Inspecting – coming closer.

Mouth corners fall,

frown gives way to fright

at the grim real.

A suspect pestilence grows darker

Before the wide and blameless eyes

The blackest spots were shadows,

Now—

 spilling like ink through parchment –

Stained through.

A speck of infection renders beauty undone

love tainted, valor wasted

daughter jaded, photos faded.

We survive, we pretend, the picture is perfect,

And smile and smile and crumble inside.

Our motives are true and our hearts are, too

I don’t see yours, and you don’t see mine

But using each other, all of the time.