Minx-Angel

by

Theresa Cecilia Garcia

Blind men are men of habit
bed of wool, opals reclined
fancied grievance, wounded vanity
measure the victim,three times.
Hundred francs you pay them
patrons of the arts adorned,
distorted demand shone with joy.
Truth now, one could do his nature
lasting harm,carved in bitterness
remaining deaf.

Reverse and you shall see her
Minx-Angel sings a melody
few men have heard on earth.
Child's soul, blessed faery
charms the heart with a healing hand.
White lillies and orchards
porch a trellis-work.
Art of old pictures shine freely
filling the air with sweet scent.
Voice of an angel,
among abrasive cut-throat passion.
Laughter of an innocent girl
rejuvinates the tired spirits.
She fights to say she's a destroyer
rather than a lover of purity
but her art gives millions sight.

Vanished were the blind men
of superior name, mind and soul
hoping to never see
abject squalid misery again
from human beings
one could either hate or love
but never compute.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at He is a Poetaster
by: Francis Duggan
from: Wonthaggi, Victoria, Australia

To visit all of Theresa Cecilia Garcia's poems, click HERE

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