We breathe the spiked and silken lemongrass,
among marbled men and maidens made of clay,
am I a mere grain of sand in the molten moonlight?
consider the cradle
consider the grave
the eighteen zeros in a trillion
axes to grind
contracts to sign
loopholes to find
unrelenting moments and lifetimes intertwined.
consider the Mona Lisa on the cover of Rolling Stone
or an uncaptioned Banksy
brushed silhouettes of shadowed time
immersive Van Gogh
pixelated Seurat
enduring the morning magenta mist
the bronzed cast of twilight
ageless timeless beauty swaddled and swathed
in lichen and moss
but if art can reside within the temple of the soul
why does sutured love forever need to be rekindled
with every brushstroke?
Dedicated to all those who have experienced art, love and loss, and everything in between. And don’t you think Madonna Mona Lisa belongs on the cover of People Magazine?
© Connie Song 2023. All Rights Reserved.
