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averylia Dec 2020
Once again
I am captured
Struck by the rose,
enraptured by the thorn.

I see your reflection in
ivory paper,
and the crown of your sweet head
like a blanket of fallen snow.

Does it matter, I wonder,
if you were truly alive or truly living?
For in these pages I can see your image
as truly as if it were a branding in my head.

The gentle ***** of your shoulders,
the dark and twisted curls-
Now see, you begin to see her too-
the small & delicate hands,
with crooked ring fingers,
the intuitive eyes.

And perhaps if I call Aphrodite,
down from the sea foam
and have her fair lips kiss these words,
I can have you materialize in my breath
and echo into my arms,
a statue no more.

Or perhaps I will lie a fool
my thumbs and forefingers obscured by ink
and your skin that of clay
detached and resolute.
Inspired by the tale of Galatea and Pygmalion, in which Pygmalion falls in love with the statue he's created; or the artist with his creation. I spun the tale so that it's the writer falling in love with the inevitably written
kylie Oct 2020
pink plush lips against my clavicle
breathe into me a life that i never knew
before you
— galatea
C Burman Mar 2019
She was a numinous beauty
of eclectic ideals,
body tall and slender,
skin pale and smooth.
She was……
My work of art
She was everything
a fool could want for
but She was hard
and unfeeling
her body marble cold
She was held
aloft, aloof
from this world
Her eyes vacuous,
vapid, and gray.
But I liked her that way
She was My perfect perfidy,
My big ******* to the gods
She made me a faithless man
as I lost sight of all but her
This is a poem I wrote for english class. It wasn't originally supposed to be related to anything in particular, but as I was writing it, it grew to allude to the story of pygmalion and galatea, a greek myth.
Nahida Mar 2018
he sculpts his perfect woman out of marble
drapes her in silks and jewels
fits his hands around her waist and kisses her cold lips

venus blesses their union and one day
she is warm underneath him and naked and afraid
he asks her why- she was created by him
for him
why does she shy away from the hands that formed her?

she puts the distance of a city-state between them
"you created me to love you
but you kissed me when i had no voice
you dressed me when i had no choice
you loved me, but never asked if you were lovable."

and this was the hand of venus, then.
love is not love when it has to be carved out of stone.
all women are perfection, but your idea of perfection is conditional.
steven Jul 2014
You were so beautiful,
Like a marble statue
Behind millions of dollars of security.
But now your insecurity
Has defiled your purity;
The glossy perfection
Turned rotten
At your crystal lips of limestone;
You flawless face, now
Fouled by fatality;
And worst of all:
Your once sweet words
Are now rancid with
Distaste of me,
And it simply destroys
The beauty I see in you,
A beauty greater than
Any Greek statue
Carved eons ago.
You don’t see that your ego
Sped up time’s flow,
Faded your glow.
You’re rubble, my friend,
You’re nothing but old.
My fires of love
Are suddenly cold.
Don't know what I saw in you.

— The End —