Spots

A patchwork of lilac and amber,

A melody of pink speckled spots.

They dance around the sides

of his cheek like crimson Kites,

carried by stubborn winds.

While the Kites fly above, his back is a

A canvas for an impressionist’s

Brushwork. If only Monet grew

Lavender in that garden so lovely,

Maybe more people would see the

Nuanced beauty of his pink and

Speckled spots.

Sometimes they sing songs of pain,

As the Kites twirl to the tunes of change

As Monet’s garden turns to Hokusai’s

great wave, great storm, when they

Weep with rosey tears.

But all winds do calm, all storms pass.

The melody of lavender and lilac

Will one day be but an echo

In the cave of Plato - where only blind

men be kings.