An Artist

 

An Artist

 

The stone gaze; it whispers wisdom and cunning.

The mystery beheld upon it.

The cold rock crafted by bitter, old hands.

Symbol of nations.

Symbol of my Father.

Face set in stone,

Hailing and mighty.

A magnificent work of Art.

A life left to perfecting such a media.

And who am I to thank?

To dedicate?

The statue before me….

Its gaze so sharp and piercing,

Making me wonder;

If the life I led in perfection

Would have been different,

If I would not have perfected.

(Wake up, who else would?)

So long I wasted…

In the glory of this immaculate.

Still so much to do…

Perfections…

That is not for men.

 

(The statue stood before me,

And I saw through time…

To the place where the sullen eyes

Mixed with tears.

And the rest…

Well the rest was crumbling.

Just. Like. My. Everything.)

 

 

 

Reviews

[Gabriela Rivas]

Wow.

The Rest was Crumbling.
Like you said "A Magnificent Work of Art."