At some point, you realize
it is more than wanton destruction
or the need for an outlet.
There is art in it, purpose,
and messages as bold and secret
as those of the grandmasters
and you stop shaking your head
and you stop in the open-air museum
and try to understand
what lied beneath the visual rant,
People passing wonder at you standing there,
head cocked in thought,
“Silly man!”, they whisper between themselves,
“May as well understand God as this drivel.”
But they would be wrong.
God is easy. He leaves his messages in the open,
allowing us to complicated them
with prejudice and a need to control.
Art though, is hard. We lack the code
that lives inside the head of the artist
with the spray paint,
but the prejudices are just as strong.
Still, you try and in the trying,
the loud graffiti on the wall becomes yours,
at least a little bit.
And you become just a little more human
in the effort to understand.
About this poem
The picture was taken at Asbury Park.