On Viewing Boticelli’s Venus

Cerulean skies

Hover silently

above your guileless head.

Somehow the sun

gilds your

presence with halos

of luxuriance.

Luminous, radiating

Warmth, Conviviality…

This Virtue,

Would shame,

arouse the blackest Envy,

Surreptitious resentments…

Yet still, you remain

Serene, almost feline

In your statuesque pose,

Unperturbed by

The clamor of the throng.

Mere artifice?

That furtive smile reveals

Neither mockery…nor dispassionate disdain

Rather it is of acceptance

Of your devotees’ reverence.

Their paeans and plaudits

Frenzied prayers and harried hopes

Magnify your innate godhead

While decrying the inconsequence,

the frailty of human existence

before the Divine.