Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
A slightly bent knee defines the position of a curled hand. Far from disfigured, the glazed white eyes stare on. They have seen centuries, watched life evolve, without ever viewing. Fake, he is all fake. Wrought by hand. Born at a time so long lost, yet never ageing a day, save for a few wind worn wrinkles. Grooving the juvenile face.
0
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
The Ideal
A slightly bent knee defines the position of a curled hand. Far from disfigured, the glazed white eyes stare on. They have seen centuries, watched life evolve, without ever viewing. Fake, he is all fake. Wrought by hand. Born at a time so long lost, yet never ageing a day, save for a few wind worn wrinkles. Grooving the juvenile face.
a-leo-keenan
Written by
American
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem