She liked art-
But it
Wasn't the kind of art
That you look at
And realize
The meaning right away.
It was more the kind with
Squiggly lines, and
Splashes of paint.
The kind that hides it's
Meaning inside of each
Persons soul who
Happens to be lost staring
At it.
He loved women-
But never understood
The twisting, turning
Emotion that poured out
Of each one.
He didnt understand art
Either.
He didn't understand the
Lack of patterns
Or the
Absence of meaning.
He saw chaos.
They both stared
And pondered
At the work before them.
The meaning different
In each one's soul.
One saw hope yet
One saw disorder.
And as they turned
And looked at one another
Into each other's eyes,
Where it is said that
One's soul makes itself clearer
than anywhere else,
A man saw a woman
And a woman saw art.
But it
Wasn't the kind of art
That you look at
And realize
The meaning right away.
It was more the kind with
Squiggly lines, and
Splashes of paint.
The kind that hides it's
Meaning inside of each
Persons soul who
Happens to be lost staring
At it.
He loved women-
But never understood
The twisting, turning
Emotion that poured out
Of each one.
He didnt understand art
Either.
He didn't understand the
Lack of patterns
Or the
Absence of meaning.
He saw chaos.
They both stared
And pondered
At the work before them.
The meaning different
In each one's soul.
One saw hope yet
One saw disorder.
And as they turned
And looked at one another
Into each other's eyes,
Where it is said that
One's soul makes itself clearer
than anywhere else,
A man saw a woman
And a woman saw art.