Art

And I looked at it
And it was Art
There really was who other way
To describe such a thing
Maybe it was the light
Or the camera angel
Or the subject of such perfect proportion
Maybe this is why the rich have
Filled their homes with
Beautiful things in
Pretty frames
And on pedestals 
And in silken clothes 
Maybe we shouldn’t see
Beautiful things
Where none exist
But I refuse to believe 
That this world has nothing to offer
But a life 
Of darkness
And maybes