Painting

A short poem about someone who is unable to see beauty

Small images are hard for the mind to appreciate.

To me, it’s only strange,

Having to hold it up to my eyes and try to skim the meaning.

Perhaps I simply can’t see it.

My eyes trace the details of the simple picture-

I feel unnatural.

Flicks of natural hues, greens and blues, mainly,

I can’t quite tell what I should be seeing.

Perhaps someone born with clearer eyes could better appreciate it.

Me, I must wear glasses-

And they were scratched the other day while I was dreaming.

They fell from my bed.

Perhaps that is a story, and perhaps it can be told,

In a few colors,

No words at all on a square of rough paper.

No, I still don’t understand.

There is a note on the back of the picture.

Why, look there, a note from the painter!

“This image:

It looks pretty. Enjoy it.”

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. We are all different, mind you having good eye sight helps too. Good to read you.

Chris