Art is peace

Within museum halls, awesomely still, filling white walls and niches floored with stone, are objects purposed for serenity reposing in bronze wreaths and golden frames - in marble folds, holding a dreamer's dream that art is peace, embodied and extolled. Within the rapt observer, winds of war subside to see the force of storms resolved around the quiet eye of beauty where a share of strength is mingled with repose until a wave of vulnerability transfigures warrior impulses to stone for there are stirrings in spent space that speak that war is artifice and art is peace.