In paintings, staring into space.
Hanging up on odd walls that breathe.
Measured in right height, depth and width.
Men trooping to behold our grace,
Weird eyes roaming through our surface,
Art registered through teleport.
We cannot shift from the discomfort
We belong on wandering minds
With imaginations of all kinds
All Colours from moods we import.
In heaven dining with angels
Breaking free from all of earth’s pain
With a garment that cares not for stain
Quasimodo echoes the bells
The serenade its music tells.
We should be nested in the air,
Weightless, with all our dealings fair.
We belong in Serenity!
Not struggling for identity,
In the moments we care to share.