Visibly Invisible
An Ekphrastic Sonnet
Some contemporary minds seem so smug
Dismissing the soul as a quaint, old myth
Sweeping sublime strangeness under the rug
Studying swords and ignoring the smith
Contemplate this ecstasy ravished whore
Friend and confidante of a mortal god
Spat upon; impossible to ignore
Where is the locus of her feelings, odd?
In her frontal lobe, perhaps, or her knee?
In the left ventricle of her raw heart?
Perhaps this painting is both lock and key
Its audible silence shows it is art
The part of you that feels real ecstasy
Is visibly impossible to see
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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