Il Messaggero

Oh, but she is gentle and at peace
this “winged figure” of exalted atmosphere,
without need for explanation of virtue.

Beauty. Optimism. Perfection.

Oh, but she is able to lay her head against pillow of wing
in blankets of sky because her purpose is clear,
and rest comes easy.

Serenity. Ability. Wisdom.

Oh, but her right hand cast so deliberately upon bosom,
covering her heart as if to keep the depth of her soul from
Bursting out from beneath angelic porcelain skin.

Love. Honor. Purity.

Oh, but she is free from Icharas’ cursed pride,
contented to sleep without ungodly driving to pursue,
waiting for the divine call.

Humility. Patience. Truth.

Oh, but a man who watched me watching her
found the resemblance between us quite uncanny,
the only differences he saw were “wings of faith.”
Gold of heaven.

Blue of sky. Touch of humanity.

written in 2002

Abbot H. Thayer, Winged Figure;
Art Institute of Chicago

I’ve been choosing a poem to publish each day for National Poetry Month. This one was a favorite assignment for an advanced writing class at Wheaton College. We took a field trip to the Art Institute of Chicago, and we were tasked with finding a piece of art and writing a poem about it. Art inspires art, and any time you’re having trouble getting your abstract feelings down, connecting with a piece of art can help make those emotions more concrete and tangible.

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