vantage askew

i painted a beautiful picture,

a piece i had to hide,

perfect grace with every stroke,

and exquisite composure of every hue.

i framed it in highest quality,

not a penny to be spared,

and emptied a hidden room,

to secretly display the newly created treasure,

and admire it all alone.

you crept into the the depths of hidden spaces,

broke the lock off the door,

ripped the work from the wall,

and in pieces,

left it on the ground, without a look backwards,

without a sound.

the framing was ruined,

the glass shattered, so perfectly,

to shred through the woven canvas,

and leave but mauled fragments to mark its existence.

upon finding my dream in dissassembled parts,

i cried tears that i didn’t know could live,

i picked up the pieces,

and using only the best of glues,

began to put my perfect work back to together.

i was able to do it,

mend the fibers,

hide the lines.

restore the luster of every color,

erase the travisty that had occured.

i thought that the piece reliving

would engulf the tragedy,

and no memory could exist,

but that of my perfect picture,

of the awe that once had lived.

but there’s a problem you see,

for when all was mended, i realized,

i had re-assembled it upsidedown.

a new look on something that had always existed.

a new vantage on a old work,

turning something,

so perfect,

into a mess.

and again i had a realization,

no.

an epiphany,

it wasn’t the vantage blocking the view,

creating beautiful imagery,

a perfect work.

no.

it had been a mess all along.