The museum docent guided me down a long, lethargic hall
Tiled pale white
Announcing its history with blemishes and bruises.
I slipped into the great room, and the rain followed overhead.
There was a portrait to my left;
An elderly man sits reclined, slippers up, reading Patton’s War.
A sculpture straight ahead, with vicarious visitors viewing on.
A frail woman, a spoon shivering in her hand as she
Pulls grits towards her vestal jaw.
And finally the room of my travel’s intent,
Rests in bed with my family gathered around.
Only the rays from window-boxed sun glow the room as
We gaze upon Mona Lisa.
The lightning, from the burden, shouts like a captive caged in me.
This museum is no place for a painting so beautiful to sleep.
She is decaying quickly, it pains me to say.
I pray I could have seen her painted-
Her face still young and spry
And each stroke not yet dry.
William Surkan: "My favorite part about all art is pushing boundaries and discovering new terrain. In anything artistic I do, I strive for 'different.' Nobody is immune to that."