Motionless Dance

More about Motionless Dance

A moment held in motion's grasp,
A shell of paint, a fleeting gasp,
Her colors blend in fluid form,
A faceless beauty, without norm.

What secrets lie beneath her dress,
A swirl of hues, without caress,
A canvas wrought in brilliant dye,
But void of soul, or private eye.

For what is art, but mere façade,
A surface skimmed, an empty nod,
A thing of beauty, yet so frail,
A mere reflection of life's tale.

And so we gaze upon this form,
A glimpse of beauty, but the norm,
A moment captured, set in paint,
A shell of color, with no restraint.

Yet do we truly see beyond,
To what lies deep, beneath this pond,
Or do we bask in outer guise,
A mask of art, without surprise?