This piece speaks with subtle attitude.
Its whispers echo over the crowded gallery
Yet only I can hear.

My eyes are fixated on its delicate details,
Tracing every stroke of the brush.
My sight is paralyzed.

The colors move and swirl,
Caught in a maelstrom of creativity.
The hues melt off the canvas,
Bleed down the wall,
Pool at the bottom,
Mixing but not blending,
And all I can do is watch.

Slowly the others follow suit,
Bleeding down the walls in a patient rush,
Stretching across the floor
So desperate and calm
Until It caresses my shoe.

It climbs my leg, rising and rising,
Staining my pants and skin.
It rises and rises still,
An orchestra of color making permanent residence.
I am terrified yet my breathing is slow,
Watching the details form.

Engulfed by color I turn to see
All the masses staring at me.
Speaking to one another with subtle attitude,
Whispers echo the crowded gallery,
Their eyes fixated on the delicate details,
Tracing every line,
Paralyzed.

My fear was met with thunderous applause.