The Pseudo Intellectual

“Isn’t the beauty preternatural The canvas is ablaze  With hues so refined yet rural The amethyst so subtly sensual The azure so brazen and bold (Those are both colours you should know) One cannot imagine the atrocious intellectual  That must have put strokes upon strokes Colours upon colours,” Said the public in awe that was quite habitual Once again the hive was in approval But another point brought up- But what does it mean  When you step back and peruse it What does it make you feel? Oh you’ve missed the point I’ve deduced it It has colours you see So fluorescent and flourishing  Filling you with fear of forbidden fabrication  Which is the abomination that is lying before your eyes blinding  Look away it does not deserve your praise or even your appraisal  Because what it is a  mess Is that oversimplification  No it escapes unneeded convulsion  It a ruse hidden behind the facade of genius It’s not art it is an attempt of concealing the white of the canvas with strokes  So random that you’ll see mirages of meaning  It’s a sheep in wolf’s clothing It’s devoid of everything  All to escape one blank canvas