Mona Lisa

We've spent so many nights

Painting a pretty face on the Mona Lisa

That we're surprised every time

The tears well in her eyes

And she still cries

For freedom from this cage.

Our coats of paint crack and crumble

Turn to dust as we look on

To try and find the subtle line

Between what is art and what is wrong.

Some things can't be changed

No matter how much paint

You pour into the palette

With the best intentions.

Some works are marred before the start

Before the first stroke falls

Bearing choice colors like a poison

Onto a canvas that will bleed.

Yet even now, she's smiling

That smile for which we are to blame

She's becoming the fixation

The one that got away

The only masterpiece we let escape.