Art, a smile like the one
on the face of Mona Lisa.
Curved like the waxing moon
above the sea.
Light a flame before a face
yet to be seen.
What will it prevail,
will it show once for all
a slow tilt on the smiling lips
—a curve softly locks on
a rose from the sun,
or a shadow beneath the moon?
This is a poem from my book Zero and One available on Amazon.
Whenever I am not seeing you
Lethal void is my heart
Like the monolithic art
Of a sculptor;
Like the figures of Mona Lisa,
I tried to engrave you
Again and again in my heart
And rehearsed you many times
In my memories.
Your beautiful image
Inside of my mind
I behold you thousand times,
Yet all loving and languishing
Nothing could be captured
To match your perfection
As you were seen in person
Nor could be remembered
To your many dimensional figure
Of youth unclaimed.
You are just beautiful but demure,
Seductive but unrevealing
A love that slips down
Near your lips were forbidden?
And be never told?
Like two balsam flowers unfold
Opening from their buds,
Your eyelids are open wide.
Like two bees ******* honey
My eyes were seeking yours
To ferret out the secret
Of your true love and desires;
Neither did they come out
Nor did they flutter
And never reached out
My beehive safely.
Seeking out for your true love
In your eyes, in your lips,
Cheeks and chin far and near,
Everywhere all over you,
Looking at you all the time.
You are open to interpretation
Of your true intention
Of your love and desires
Like the secret smiles
Of Mona Lisa.
Until you make confession
Of your true love,
I will behold you thousand times,
You are just beautiful but demure
Looking for you all the time.
You make me dream about you
While in my sleep or I am awake.
My discrete memories
Are overshadowed by time,
I cannot fight with my feelings
Whenever I am not seeing you,
Lethal void is my heart,
Come and meet me in person!
We always talks about putting our broken pieces back together
Or we speak of mending another with tape and glue
Like stitches that won't undo
But putting the pieces back together wont make them new
Why don't we ever think about picking up each others broken parts
And placing them where ours once were
Instead of fixing a puzzle with missing pieces
Why don't we become art
And fill each other with beautiful parts?
All that you find broken about yourself
All that I find rotten within my hollow shell
Are colorful pieces to complete a work of art
If you take some of me and make it beautiful
Then perhaps one day I too could see the beauty I betray
I'll do the same for you as I collect these magnificent additions
To the masterpiece that I make of myself
One day we will become Mona Lisa and The Starry Night
Not only will we be the art we will become the artists
As grand as DaVinci, as unique as Van Gogh
We will fill this world with our broken art
And make others learn that there is beauty in every splintered part
distance between us
yet we are light years apart
with galaxies between you and i
how did we get here you wonder?
what did you expect, my love?
how far could we go
with melancholy as our common ground
we had gone through this hadn't we
how you'd remember me
as the one who tried,
your sweet leaf
this monalisa smile,does it still haunt you?
will you be waiting for me on the other side?
for i wish to meet you
some other time
when i won't be just a bridge to your past
and you would learn to live with yourself
in some other land
where the eagles don't flutter
and where there will be no peacocks dancing in the rain
we can call it our heaven
where the rain brings solace and is less of a burden
but till then
I hope you write about me some
And when you do
I hope it will not be all bitter
and till then
I'll be here in this purgatory of intersection
reminiscing you through our songs
He is a painter
who dreamed big
as The eiffel tower or
The statue of liberty
Descendant of The Monalisa and
The painter's self-portrait without a beard
He bought some paints and canvasses
but not some Aspirin
or Vicodin or anything
for the headach He had but
a frr.. a frrrr. That thing gave him
a homemade Advil-like pill, which it was
Fentanyl which is Morphine like only
its more like its a Hydrogen bomb
He slept but never woke up
to dream big, again
Not far from him
In a bar stool
in a beautiful town
with good people and
the same kind of ****** people
A beautiful lady, She was sitting
in that beautiful town, on a stool
when a charming prince facade
asked her for a ride
but before She decide, he offered her a drink
so She will not think he is a tool
One drink, two drinks, maybe thirteen!!
Think twice before
Lowering trust crown
I apologize if this is offensive by Deb Jones
— The End —