Mona Lisa is not smiling,

Instead, she sits; a crowd aloof…

            She beguiling.

Showing emotion, if any, loss.

            That look stamped across

            Her placid face…

                        Smile…

Not present between her nose and chin,

Her face, too tear stained from missing him.

The oil pastel,

Now runs down canvas.

And beneath her hands placed in her lap…

Behind her boney fingers,

Lies the broken heart she shares

And there it will always linger.

Her eyes, they scan the entire room,

In search of her long lost lover,

Or perhaps they trace the sea of faces for her

            Painter…

                        Captor…

                                    And tormentor

Who trapped her love behind glass and frame…

She, imprisoned and kept from hearing

The name

            Of the one who stole her smile.

A con, a fake,

Her love at stake,

The infamous mistress, Mona…

She sits and dupes a countless horde

Whilst her heart breaks beneath her prison’s