On Display

Colorful, vibrant, spotted with yellows, greens, blues.
A fanciful texture, a harmonic tone.
Poised, neatly upon the shelves of the public museum.
Embraced by light, glittering pleasantly upon molded stone.

A fabric, a cup, a delightful spark of the now.
The eye's simile of mediocrity echoed across the displays.
A best seller, a musical hit, a self-indulgent how.
Archetypes illuminated by inscrutable masses.

Come closing, the world leaves, the doors lock.
The metaphors are left bereft, empty of deceit.
The urn remains an urn, paint remains paint.
Stone is stone and words are but ink.

Clay sees no masterpiece, or horror, within patterns.
Night touches all the same, leaving reliable shadows.
Despair and fear, isolation and sadness.
Joy and love, family and faith.

These are the things that remain.

Author's Note

Say what you will