ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
Sculpture of a man,
chiseled free from the slab.
A fine thing,
strong jawline and attentive eyes,
white,
ever-vigilant
of the world before him.
Hands of such fine detail,
wrinkles and lines,
perfection
lives in the details
of his flaws.
Some men
hammer far too long,
and some
not nearly long enough.
Too much stone
trimmed from the form,
a man becomes weak,
unstable,
shows the fractures
precipitating collapse.
Too little
and the man is trapped,
born into a prison
with no hope of escape,
frozen arms,
the hammer teases,
just out of reach.
And yet,
a man of stone,
no matter how exquisitely cut,
majestically shaped,
is not a man,
but a figurine,
a polished rock,
another fine,
useless thing.
chiseled free from the slab.
A fine thing,
strong jawline and attentive eyes,
white,
ever-vigilant
of the world before him.
Hands of such fine detail,
wrinkles and lines,
perfection
lives in the details
of his flaws.
Some men
hammer far too long,
and some
not nearly long enough.
Too much stone
trimmed from the form,
a man becomes weak,
unstable,
shows the fractures
precipitating collapse.
Too little
and the man is trapped,
born into a prison
with no hope of escape,
frozen arms,
the hammer teases,
just out of reach.
And yet,
a man of stone,
no matter how exquisitely cut,
majestically shaped,
is not a man,
but a figurine,
a polished rock,
another fine,
useless thing.
Literature
Death
Gently brushing against him, I flinch. I feel him, closer than ever, his rotting breath on my neck and his enticing voice in my ear.
I cannot give in. Dragging myself to my feet, I trudge on. Each footstep is thunder and each ragged breath is hell. Every rumble of my stomach, deafening. The averted eyes of strangers pierce my soul. Their blank faces loom in and out of focus. Muffled voices ask about my wellbeing. I stumble and fall. No, stand, please legs work, please, oh god, please stand up, don't let me fall, he'll catch me, he'll take me, oh please, stand
Gripping the wall, my head pounding, I begin to buckle again
Literature
1000 Paper Cranes
I.
We whispered prayers into the corridors
while I spoke into your ribcage,
telling lies to our skeletons
to help you understand.
you said they loved
watching me wax poetic
while I dripped candlelight into your hands.
we watched the dust motes
cover our skin
while I taught you how to fly.
(you were always too afraid to fall
and too afraid to land).
II.
It wasn't lovesongs we sang;
it was half-forgotten hymns.
we never wanted to believe
but you said ghosts exist
without compassion,
and without sins.
I told the doctor
his medication clipped your wings.
III.
I fed you sweet words
tucked in between
candy-canes
and licori
Literature
A Way to Forget
I was seeking aimlessly
through the jars of my life.
I found them in a dream,
these great, magic urns,
one containing butter, one, milk
others filled with grains or brass or gold.
I was looking for the lids, in order to cover them up
but i could not find even one.
Sometimes, I would spill a little and
sometimes, I would return from elsewhere
to find them empty
This caused me a great deal of anxious sadness
just sitting there, looking into the empty containers
that once held my life
I woke up some time later and checked the clock
10 pm
I had not had a drink in several hours.
I needed a drink.
So,
I got up and
produced shirt
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
No heartbeat beneath the rock.
First poem after a long hiatus. Still rusty.
First poem after a long hiatus. Still rusty.
© 2016 - 2024 dreamsinstatic
Comments12
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
I love this.