Art

The eyes perceive and the mind believes…

Though the canvas is distorted like hills with purple trees
The critic has given it the name art.
It takes us into the unknown like Mona Lisa’s skin tone
Or the way she stabs the soul with her glare.
You can swim a sea of stars with Van Ghou and drown in is beauty
But you can’t visit the Sistine Chapel and not watch it acutely.
For that mater you can’t read Frost without taking “The Road Less Traveled”,
Or you can’t listen to Beethoven and not feel the ivory babble.
For art is the crimson tide bidding farewell to the sun beyond the horizon.  
Art is a family portrait hanging above the couch.
Art is the hand of Michelangelo bringing David to life.
Art is a passion that some men tend to withhold
For they don’t know what the eyes will perceive or what the mind will believe.
That is art.