For the Love of Art


I decided to accept this writing prompt and my love letter (well, poem really) will be to Frederick Leighton's "Flaming June," oil, c. 1895.


Liquid gold
Drips off every curve
Every delicate fold
Rest your heavy head
My tired nymph
Or are you a naiad?
Classicism is safe here
Sleep sweet dreams dear
And in the depths of rest
Have no fear
The Oleander suggests death
But there is only life here

They don't take you seriously
Perhaps they have yet to see
There is more to you than the promotion of travel
Or the vain strive for deep meaning
Or delicate detail

You are real 
But just a dream
You are more
And yet remain 
as simple as what is seen
And in your simplicity
Lies the making of complexity
The brink of thought
Just out of reach
Trying to grasp some
Scheme or theme
That lies just past the mind
As if a recollection
Of a fleeting dream






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