Sonnet LIII: Mona Lisa's Eyes

© 5-15-24, Olan L. Smith

Death stands inside the door, her face dismayed,

And awed. She does project her deepest blame.

An elder creeps the hall; decayed and gray

His grim and gnarly gaze will bring her shame.

She opens realms to aim her deadly stare;

Indeed, such watchful ghosts cause painful fright.

The elder's soul still nears and stays aware.

The door will screech, and fear does swing with might;

Her mouth agape within a deathly deed.

He nears her frozen state — unlocks his doors.

Obedient, she places bags where agreed—

A wall of eyes is frightful frozen moors.

        "I love your paintings, sir." Those soulless griefs,

        The Mona Lisa's eyes clash with her beliefs.