Beauty is in the eye of the beholder they say
So the artist beholds to place on display
An eye in a camera, some paint, choice words
Ten fingers who consistently find the right chords
Like an artery carrying blood from the heart
Where your pulse is the beauty and your blood is my art
Train tracks, lavender, a woman’s silhouette
Vivaldi, Lichtenstein, Romeo’s Juliette
Who has the authority to behold and define?
Whose eye is unbiased besides that which is blind