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Lorena 6d
The Mason and His Statue

at first, I am a block of stone
and you are a chisel
carving pieces of me away
and then you are a diamond drill
and then I am polished
mounted
wheeled out of the room covered in stone dust and into the liquid darkness of a hallway
and ten arched windows pass me by
for the very first time I can see the sky

I’m in the middle of the room
with a nameplate on a stand beside me - did I have a name before?
I’m just me
and there’s more of me all around me
standing
sitting
eyes reaching… quiet.
The doors open and the footsteps arrive
I hear water outside and see out the windows at the end of the hall and sometimes if I’m lucky they open them and I feel a breeze on the side of my face
but the funny part is -
the best time of day is when they close all the doors
and it’s just me and the janitor who’s mopping the floors

in case you were wondering
why I’m not there anymore
in the middle of the room in plain view on my pedestal
they took me down
too dated or too worn or just not new
wrapped me in canvas and put me in the back of a storeroom
where for the first time I experienced damp, and cold
and I learned that it was a bad thing to be old

but
then I was worn enough to be disposable
and they put me in the park
I’m by the fountain - come and find me
there’s no barriers and no nameplate telling you what to see
and yes, the wind blows and I’m a little more exposed
but I’m free
I was going to explain my feelings behind this poem, but if I wrote it well enough then you'll feel them - and explaining is cheating anyway.
JT Nelson Jun 5
I tried to walk
I tried to talk
I tried to fly
I tried to yell

But my feet were locked
But my legs were numb
But my tongue was still
And my lips were locked

Was I trapped in a dream?
A bad dream for sure
I mustered no emotion
Except fear for my future

My eyes couldn't blink
And couldn't move
My arms, fingers, toes
Also locked tight

And then as people stared
My heart began to glow
From the warmth of their smiles
Shining on me and my pedestal.
From a dream I had where I could figure out why I was unable to do anything except observe. I guess it would be considered a nightmare but I remember the feeling I had of joy knowing people were enjoying me like this.
Olivia May 29
Do you hear the old gods singing?
Through marble bones
And filtered sunlight
Their semblance,
Cold and undying
Painstakingly chiseled
And forced into placidity.
Yet still they sing.
Ameilia Lewis Apr 22
I want to say you have made me who I am
But you were not the sculptor
You were the one with the vision
Pushing the sculptor to create something
Without defects, without faults, perfection
But you pushed too hard
Until the statue cracked under pressure
You did not make the statue
It was the sculptor
It was I who made me who I am
Star BG Mar 20
I stand before my soul statue
in dreams.
It shines divinely.
It echoes with wisdom.
Its tall inside beauty.
And I as little bird
sits upon it
becoming energized
and infused
I sing ready to fly high
in a journey of miracles.
inspired by Arrow bird thanks
Merope Angel Mar 8
Fleeting moment
Fighting words
Recognize my own absurd
Rules

World I’m livin’ in
Ain’t got the space for you
So please, just move.

I worry about
Doing the wrong thing
And the same time
Doing the wrong thing

Didn’t sleep last night
And I’m not in the mood
Told you I need you,
But now I’m being rude

I try to speak up
Without screaming
Or grip myself
Without scratching and bleeding.

This really is hell
Just not knowing you
I don’t know what to do

It’s like I wish
And that’s all I can do

You’re afraid of being cheated
I’m afraid of being used
I know there’s someone out there
Who can save me from being abused

These moments are fleeting
The writing unchanged

I keep saying the same thing
In so many ways

Hello, where are you?
Tell me what to do.

I know that you’re out there
I’ll be waiting for you

Pushing myself away
Eternally bruised
Merope Angel Mar 8
I visit the afterlife in my dreams
It takes me away
It's not what it seems
Colors unbroken and
Painted, clean

The Light slips away
Into black walls that scream
I lead the way
I guide the crowd

But when I turn around
They continue on down

I grab one soul
And slip away

It always ends this way.
mderdun Feb 17
St Paul stands
stiff as a stone
recovering from
centuries of sinful sorrow
buttocks bare
waiting next to an Itsu.
Poetic T Feb 2
Sitting silently
               fishing for worth

But all that is caught is a gaze  
                   of illegitimate worth.

A slave to a statue of limitations.
The Dybbuk Nov 2018
Green tea, red fire,
Glowing in the place.
Black screen, white tusk,
A poised trunk with grace.
Pupil-less and empty,
Stare into the soul.
Thick flesh-less life,
Ebony and coal.
Distinctly creepy in its eyes,
But beautiful without.
Distracting from its evil,
With the fountain of its spout.
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