White Elephants

What is art

Without appreciation?

Beauty without the beholder,

Poetry without the peruser?


Paint strokes and vapid sights,

Empty words which fray and fall flat.

Sucked dry of their wonder and grace

Which seep away, searching for a soul to entrance,

A heart to enrapture, a mind to enliven

But only finding an emptiness

To evaporate into.


White elephants

Which no one looks at,

Trumpeting with the muted voices

Of their creators,

Of whom they now bear

An irretrievable and squandered part.



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