Hear
This is a poem and painting inspired by a hike in a pristine section of landscape where I experienced a sculpture called ‘Hear’ by Artistotle Georgiades and noticed the tiniest flowers blooming everywhere.
Hear
I hear sounds
secrets held in the rolling hills
Like a memory
from the countryside
Tiny blooms
Smaller than the gentlest fingertip
Growing wild, fully free
When I stop to listen
I hear both the agony and the joy
in their dissonance and consonance
I think I’d like to stay here forever
and listen to all the silence
the hills and flowers have to share —
But my ears are not skilled enough
to decipher their music yet
And there is always so little time
What I do notice is their songs
bring a familiar feeling
Like when I walk down the streets of the city
And am struck by the curious blue eyes of a child
Freckled cheeks and
Bewildered gazes
What does the future hold?
Will this beautiful, perfect child be seen
And be loved for who he truly is