Unexpected Art

The space is light, open, well lit.
There are no dark corners,
nothing hidden, in fact
mostly it is empty here,
a few random bits of life,
colored unrecognizable,
random madness, art even
if there is no understanding.

What good, you wonder,
to put it on display
for all to see, a freak show
of poorly described truths
that has different meaning
to each eye that searches,
a place where the visitors
to your bright space
bring their own glasses,
soulful kaleidoscopes
that change your truths
and them them
their own?

Perhaps that is why you create,
not to be understood,
but to create keys
that open doors
you did not even know
existed.

About this poem

Can you tell it is Friday night? I am way too philosophic. Time to make some Mac and Cheese and get this mood done with!

Tom