Mona Lisa Poem by Troy Cochran

Mona Lisa

Rating: 5.0


An old man on his deathbed
With his brooding kin
Elbowed in about him,
Bowing heads in shameful thought
Of little secret sins
Held in
So as not to shatter his illusions
Of so many friends;

A shriveled man of poverty;
Of no great name;
No single claim of even one
Small thing
To crow about; a pen
That scribbled out a history of himself
In trite poetry, still held him
By his bony hand; no other;

His final legacy
A dying breath
Imparted to this portrait of his
Dying friends.

He alone among them grinned.

Tuesday, September 19, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: artistic work,peace,tranquility
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Kumarmani Mahakul 24 September 2017

A shriveled man of poverty of no great name had his final legacy with a dying breath imparted his portrait of magical artistic work to society. He grinned. Perception in tranquility was amazing to illustrate the illusion in art. An old man's view was really brilliant on canvas of emotion. Wisely penned interesting poem is shared is excellent one.10

2 0 Reply
Troy Cochran 26 September 2017

If I happen to go down in a hospital gown, like this man, I hope to leave such a legacy as a cryptic smile to top off a life well written and well lived. Just have to cultivate that tranquility a little every day along the way. There's no happy ending to a miserable journey! :)

0 0 Reply
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