who judges them masterpieces

There are beings of great judgement and I am deaf to their names,
born blind to their sign and scrawl.
There are works in the world that define what we mean
and we are, and we want, and it all.
There are men who find meaning in staring at mice,
or measuring the method of toddlers,
there are arts in this world that are unknown to me and
that I am numb to judging,
and these are the works that may mean the most to many
or few, or one, or none,
and there are beings of great judgement who preside on the matter
and whenever they castigate,
they are wrong.

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