For what purpose do we stand upon this stage,
celestial bodies, stringing words together?
Perfected form, transcending gentle age
in front of audience, blinded to endeavor?
Vacant windows staring blankly back
seeing surface shadows of the master’s hand
for who can see beyond that fire within?
Consumed by selfish passions, vision lack,
Drawing false conclusions, all misunderstand,
While beauty resolute remains, despite chagrin?
Eye to eye invisibility
allows one semblance of relationship.
Sweeter still, though, would not be reality?
Truth revealed in living through the script?
Artist and observer trading places
in each others’ Waterhouse or Hunt?
Refusing ease of wading in Shalott,
peeling back the layers of fine painted faces,
illuminating dimly lighted front
revealing inspired da Vinci heart below?
Ah! Joyful are the ones who find the key!
Those souls of self who take the dare to move
beyond the skin to deeper harmony.
Entwining spirits, taking chance to prove
one hope of tenured humanity springs
forth in light of patient care. From beneath
this thin veneer, in balance, a Vermeer,
for those suspending guarded disbelief.
“Where compassion flows, love grows.” – Mercy sings
the song of first creation. Can we hear?
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