Posted in Artwork, Poem

Art Is Hideous And History Is Imperfect

She wanders around places in search of art
Of knowledge, mystery and glimpses of the darker past
She looks and looks-
In the end every piece is a narration of some long afflicted rapport.
Struck by realisations she looks in the mirror
Her soul paving through her eyes-
It tells her one final tiring conclusion;
She can’t mend the broken
And deem things to fall in places; because-
Art is hideous and history is imperfect.

Author:

I don't create content. I pour my soul.

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