Fine Art | A Poem by Tara Nightingale

Paintings depict beautiful things

in ways more beautiful than their real form.

They show only the calm of the storm

and any disaster 

is painted as nothing less than a happily ever after.

Would we stare at Mona in the flesh?

No, 

yet her painting people flock to see;

a girl trapped in a beautiful frame

displayed ever so beautifully. 

Even Picassos get more attention than me,

despite their eye more displaced than mine;

diagonally placed on the forehead of their abstract face

�still such a work of beauty and grace.

I can't help but love art

and you

trapped in a beautiful world of surrealism,

yet I still have one question remaining:

am I in love with you?

Or in love with your painting?