In the stillness of the hall,
Frigidly forced on the wall,
Masterpiece they so called,
But my sights refuse to recall.
In the stillness of the images,
Recollected from memories,
Captured under the dabs and strokes,
Under the entangled shades.
In the stillness of the sculpt,
Wash-out white but not discolored,
So cold like a frozen spirit,
Fool to wish its intent.
In the stillness of stationarity,
Everything in perfect proportion and measure,
Hard to describe monotony,
When a person single in enclosure.
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