With each cut I feel your life flowing out,
emerging, appearing, pulsing warm to touch,
a sleeping heart awakening in understanding.
I trace the lines of your face, lines no other
had recognized hidden within this quarry; yet,
my heart knew, my fingers too with their
first caress found you waiting quietly,
unable, unwilling to surface for any other but
this craftsman’s touch. With my sharpest rasp,
never a cut so deep that it can not be mended;
I reveal your finer features without neglecting
the true lines of character and age. I am kind, too
about the softer curves, caressing each with care
to ensure that it is you and not some selfish desire
that I have created. For you are dignified
and need not be redefined; you were born,
tight grained of the finest stone; and I,
a mere artisan embrace this opportunity
to follow natures grain and discover you.
In a list
A contest entry
- Words Are Your Paint... by poet2angels.
650 points, ended April 27, 2007, 16 entries
Honorable winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
-
truly amazing. -
-
thank you sarah,
I am so glad you liked this
-
-
Wow
This leaves so much to think on. The artisan's hand is that of a finer touch, enhancing natural beauty with artistic interpretation. This piece is excellent. Very visual and lands just on the edge of uneasy. I liked it. Very well done. I hope you do well in this contest. ~Pamela
-
-
thank you Pam, It does lead down a path of uncertainty but it arives at a beautiful place.
-
-
Amazing
I am so happy to read you again, in annother contest...I remember your work from another contest I had....You are very talented and have proved that once again in this refreshing, and actually breathtaking write....
I am so glad that you entered...
Pen on!
Lynda
-
-
thank you kindly,It is always a pleasure to be recieved so nicely
-
Adding your comment:
1 - 6 of 6
