A hole in a board,
Or a toddler's clay sculpture.
The auction is endless.
People stuck staring,
Staring at something so perfect,
That is was translucent.
But why did the tallest mark,
Fall on this page?
The most obvious and clear page.
Is the piece of parchment really capturing the eyes?
Or is the name scribbled below it.
Because in another land,
Where an ignored girl,
As quiet as a lamb,
Handed the judge,
The same classic,
He bursted out in a loud laughter.
Ten years ago,
In preschool,
I handed into my art teacher,
Something that looked the same.
The same as the priceless clay blob in the museum,
Or the famous explosion on canvas behind the glass.
Why didn't I get all the credit that Van Gogh got?
Or the fame and fortune?
It's becuase of the person,
Not the creation.
Because of the age,
Not the piece.
Because of the history,
Of each artist, behind their painting.
Each piece of art, reflecting their first,
And admirers that buy for the person behind the piece.
I really like this poem! I loved how you connected the theme to the topic of art because it goes perfectly. People see through other people if there different just how people see through art if the painter if different. You also had a lot of good imagery such as "Or a toddler's clay sculpture." because right away i can see a random ball of clay that isn't perfectly molded together. You did have some similes and alliteration but I think if you added a little more figurative language it would have made your poem even better.
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