Unless obstructed by a viewer’s gaze,
The two masterpieces everyday,
Stare at each other as if a maze.
They come from a different time,
They come from a different space,
Which someone decided to eternally contain.
Wishful thinking of a painter may be,
Existential crisis of the painted may be,
A picture takes a bit of your soul they say.
Donated? Did they themselves,
Or stolen were they?
I cannot say.
The mistakes in the two remain,
The Lord of those two never saw them again.
Left them for the gallery to sustain.
Judging material for the world,
They shy away from each other’s percept,
Or the mirror which they think of the other to be.
Destined to witness the same colors
Unless pixelated by another gape
And Dusts on the glass and frames.
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