Observe

Mon, 06/27/2016 - 20:40 -- mmh9

Tall, stone and gray,

We walk into the dull box-shaped building.

Inside looks the same.

Where is the color? Where is the art?

 

A sign reads “Monet”.

“I’m sorry you must leave, this exhibit is private.”

One more glance as I say,

“I’m sorry sir, but where is the art?”

 

Up the stairs to levels two and three.

A room full of stone carved intricately.

The smiling face of Buddha stares back at me,

Where are the paintings?  Where is the art?

 

Plaque by plaque I move from room to room.

Gods with round bellies and hands towards the sky

Depicted in stone and jewels, I assume.

Where are the drawings? Where is the art?

 

I find one painting, surrounded by 100 statues,

One eating bowl surrounded by 200 religious pieces,

This is not what I expected. I take a deep breath,

What am I looking for? Where is the art?

 

Art is in the cold of stone.

Art is in the shine of gold.

Art is in the stroke of a brush and the stitch in a cloth.

Art is in words.

Art is in the shape of a vase, the page of a book and the stretch of a canvas.

Open your eyes.

Art is everywhere.

Observe, don’t search.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741