Breaking into the Slence

 

The dark halls of the museum
are filled with a strange silence.
Fear spins
around the huge pillars
like some forbidden creepers.
 

With the onset of the storm,
a pungent smell of fresh paint
exudes from the damp walls.
A thunderbolt
strikes from the darkest moods 

of the hanging clouds,
and the orchestra in the sky 

sounds like the music of Renaissance. 

 

Fumed by the oeuvres,

the trembling ghosts
escape and evaporate
into the underlying crystalline lights
 

A Delacroix, or a Goya, or a Van Gogh
winces at the splatter of the downpour.