Gustav Klimt – Pallas Athena

He leans over judgement

And stands with the smirk

Of thinking he knows more than he does

Spits whispered conclusion from the corner of his clean cut face

“Yea, she’s worth about a penny and a half.”

But, she knows truth, ’cause she knows herself

“Scratch the surface of this cent!”

She dares the beautiful facade of man

The priceless gold that lies just beneath old hurt shines from those eyes of hers

And he’s afraid

‘Cause behind his silver dollar face

Old brown copper rusting away

And he knows how copper looks

Next to gold

– Alyssum Root

I was the quietest one…

Gustav Klimt – Salome

Of all those who made voyage to your port. No lewd social ceremonies announced me, nor the deaf bells of ancestral reflections.  My route was the savage music of the birds, releasing to the air my circling generosity. No ships heavy with opulence carried me, nor oriental rugs supported my body. Over the ships my face appeared, whistling in the round simplicity of the winds. I did not weigh the harmony of trivial ambitions which your hand promised, full of star-bursts, I only weighted on the floor of my agile spirit the tragic abandon which your gesture occulted. Your perennial duty was marked by the avid thirst. You resembled the sea, resonant and discrete. Over you I went, passing my lost hours. Over me, you followed yourself, like the sun in the petals. And I walked in the breeze of your fallen pain, with the ingenious sadness knowing myself right. Your life was a profound churning of restless fountains, in an immense white river, running to the desert. One day, by the yellow shores of hysteria, many hidden faces of ambition followed you. Through the waves of your tears, uprooted through the cosmos, voices leaked without crossing your mystery. I was the quietest one. The voice with almost no echo. The conscious spread in a syllable of anguish, scattered and tender through all the silences. I was the quietest one. The one who lept from earth with no more weapon than a verse. And here, you see me, stars, scattered and tender, with his love in my breast. – Julia DeBurgos