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Butterflies turn to moths in the drapery of your stomach.
They spread,
And the feast begins on the fabric lining the masonry of your summit.

Your satin sheets,
The place you come to cradle dreams.
Who knew,
Were vulnerable to these wing'd beasts.
Missing an ending tbh.
Pain-A-Full Apr 2016
Two words
Stuck in one person
You can call her a mason
Feelings as strong
As brick and stone

This is a poem
For the one with
A heart like stone

Numb as she is
But not dumb
For this time she knows
How life flows

She maybe cold at first
But there will always be
Someone with a torch
Who’ll light her up
And make her smile
Get that happiness
She hides inside
Made for Prevy
Shofi Ahmed Jul 17
The epitome on the show
is more than a dream turned true.
A timeless beauty stitched on the stone.
The first impression catches the eyeballs
it did for every star in the sky for every age
something remains forever a new Taj Mahal.
A thrown flat stone skipped
across the snowcapped reflection
breaking the mirror glass surface;

rippling the glaring still waters
the way a trailing piano note
slowly decays to a sobering hush

A gentle puff of silence
segued into a fading
whisper's echo



Jesse
06 April 2018
Ormond Nov 2013
.
"I shall welcome the majesty of the ******
Loam, the honour of being the daisies mantle
The goodly fortune to sleep under the golden
Stars who birthed my dream of grace and light.

World, ply my ship and sail it to the seas
Of love, poem and song, I was unworthy
Shaper and so, whereby cold fates decree—
Here lies one, whose name is traced in vapour."
Diagonal ribbs of stone
Sharp
Steep
Sparkling
Gleaming
Though dry
Winds take care of that
They fill the grooves of the solid
Where reflections and shadows
Perform their dances
That they've learned from falling leaves
This is a pedestal for night
This lump was begotten by it
Night has swallowed the moon
So smooth and round and white
And spit this rough rock at earth
So I could sit before its wall
And watch the swing
As fires eat wood
There's plenty of it around
In this starless dark
He pressed a rounded stone into my hand.
He said, "Take care of this," and turned away
To tend to things we needed for our trip:
The boats, the lines, the paddles, and the rest.

The stone was not like those about my feet.
I wondered at the stone, but not for long.
I put it in my pocket and forgot.

The Huzzah winds along a valley floor
Between thick stands of trees and rocky bluffs.
Its water is a marvel to behold,
Like crystal ichor flowing in ***'s veins.
I thought of all these things, and not the stone,
But in my pocket it was safe and sound.

And that was well, for when we came ashore
My uncle asked me for the rounded stone.
He placed it on the bank beside its twin.

"As easy as it was for you," he said,
"To bring this back to where I picked it up,
So light you sit within your Maker's hand.
The stone was not aware you carried it,
And sometimes we are just the same. But He
Is wise, and kind, and big and strong enough
To bring you safely to your journey's end.
We're going where we came from." So he said.

I miss him, but I know we'll meet again.
Copyright 2018 Benjamin Daniel Lukey.

"A Rounded Stone" was first published in The Society of Classical Poets.
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