There are moths in The Louvre
A curious prison
Flitting insane faeries
Smacking tiny, furry wings
On the mounds of oil
Ochre, sienna, cobalt,
They don't care
Still they slap the paintings of faces.
Each line, each brush stroke so clear
But with no idea what they gaze upon.
The Mona Lisa, gathers dust
Fed up of being looked upon
Scrutinized
Her wan smile disperses when all eyes are gone
And in the spotlight of the night
Only the moths in their furry straight-jackets
Are privy to her true expression
Of caged sorrow.
Her wan smile disperses when all eyes are gone And in the spotlight of the night Only the moths in their furry straight-jackets Are privy to her true expression Of caged sorrow. in that case, i ain't going to bother with visiting the Louvre! ! unless i can smack against her like the moths do! ! ! i suppose they leave scales on the canvas paint. to MyPoemList. bri :) nice!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
favorite lines: Only the moths in their furry straight-jackets Are privy to her true expression Of caged sorrow. .................... : ( this is going into October's showcase, Section B. thanks, Della. nice to read it again. others should and SHALL! bri ;) BUT, i have insider information which informs me that several times night watchmen have caught Mona dancing naked in the galleries, laughing contagiously! no caged sorrow then; she lets it all hang out!