Art
Art
ART
The room was peaceful,
To the end of time the arms of the antique and picturesque clock raced to the end of time,
Under the pressure of the fan the frail hanging lights danced weakly,
Into the vast nothingness the artistic bust stared,
And onto the table then the tray fell,
Through the table a river-like-crack ran,
Everywhere the shattered pieces of glass went,
But then there was the water,
This water not from the glass,
Rather from the bag of a poor water collector in the Himalya’s,
Over the table it painted a tree,
A beautiful piece of art.