Thursday, August 17, 2006


In vaulted hallways sparsely lit
as footsteps ring on marble floor
the heartbeat tends to race a bit
twixt chambers housing ancient lore
excited by the musty spoor.

With alabaster elegance
her haunting gaze serene, opaque
she causes breathless reverence
in those who feel the sculptor’s ache,
a thirst no wine could ever slake.

Upon a dais, deified
this regal form reflects the care
a master used to look inside
ere chisel chanced to neatly pare,
revealing lines beyond compare.

As murmurs scurry through the crowd
like hungry mice that smell a crumb
so many state they’re truly wowed
while others stare, completely dumb
their flagging tongues becoming numb.

Another room displays a frame
through which we see an artist’s view
where gaudy strokes of great acclaim
make critics reassess each hue,
turn canvas into taut sinew.

Adjoining wings await their chance
to marvel more discerning eyes
that congregate to catch a glance
of wondrous whims the deft devise
when goaded by the Sister’s sighs.

While wandering these sacred vaults
belief is colored existential,
to spawn such grace with all our faults
belies a purpose quite essential—
to utilize our full potential.


Anonymous said...

Hey Bob,
Wow! I can almost see you walking through the halls. Your last line says so much and I hope you take it to heart yourself. You have so much potential! You just walked me through a place I've never been...a museum. Thank you. Shirl

ozymandiaz said...

I can hear the footseps echo. The sounds in museums alwasy tantilize me for some reason.
Hell, and you used existential (one of my favorite all time words) in a rhyme.
I bow to you sir...

rch said...

Shirley you must go to one, it's a spiritual experience. Glad you liked my mini tour though.

Yeah isn't it awesome oz? You like that word too, the only thing is it changed the stresses on the end but just for the last verse.