Homo Aestheticus

I’ve always loved art. Visual art. Music. Sculpture. Literature— obviously.

Art: ephemeral human perfection,

fueled by practice and whetted by taste,

petals blossomed from seeds of reflection,

a speech­–undelivered–scrawled in such haste!

 

And still, tales woven by the painter’s brush,

history in the eyes of stone long carved,

strike so lucid, overpowering a rush,

into the hearts of men for ages starved!

 

Oh, rapture that endures the test of Time,

shine light into eyes blind for far too long,

and they, civilizations in their prime,

shall immortalize their artists in song!

 

How low you are, humanity, how flawed–
and yet in your beauty how like a god!