The Painting

The image compels me to stare,
Its wandering eye mistaken for a glare,
But since the uniqueness of the painting before me,
Had qualities that with surprise could floor me,
I took a chance with its gaze and let it explore me.

Of all the art in the world,
It hung fairer than all,
Its power and purity shone from that wall,
And as its pupils thinned my steadiness curdled,
For its piercing vision had answered my call.

And though you would hope it could not,
It had the power to spot,
Every nuance and chink in the armour I wore,
It swore that I was safe,
But I could never be sure,
When its own brain was not open for me to explore.


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