A sculptor I was to imagine
With hammer and chisel in place
I set out to copy your beauty
Your beauty I set out to trace
I settled my chisel to granite
Then deftly I modeled your face
With each chip and blow of my hammer
Rock yielded its eloquent grace
Then soundly I sculpted your figure
The granite removed upon row
Your beauty fell silent before me
Fell silent with each rushing blow
With darkness my work came to finish
My hammer lay down at day’s close
I sat to admire your beauty
Your beauty in granite now froze
I set out to copy your beauty
Your beauty now stood before me
Silent, immoveable, timeless
As your beauty has proven to be.
Darkness rushed down the cold mountains and seized the nestled town
Like an angry nighttide, crashing long winded walls and short, sputtering chimneys
Consuming massive, heavy stones with a tidal wave of pitch
This dark horde heaves and surges brick and mortar
Suffocating iron panes and heavy glass with burdens of black paint
Engulfing wailing wolves and bleating sheep, drowning them as one
I cannot distinguish one from the other… but I hear them
The night absolves, washing all their sins quietly away
Swirling down dirty drains
Peeling dirt through street and sewer
Like sickening gurgles
Heard no more ‘till daylight break.
And night lay across the land.
Sleepy towers, mourning their vacancies, rise and grasp stars
Tiny efforts, unnoticed by many, gather ‘round and sense me,
Taking my hand they lead me through dimly lit halls, pasted with memories
Into a darkened room, where I gather my senses, and lay me down.
My mind is bathed in images, waxing forth from deep recess
Moments lost to time elapsed
I speak with friends long unseen
Judgments turned and won at last.
My body washed in splendor reign, nations stretch to hear my praise
And words to all this comfort bring.
Where we sleep all reign as kings.
I answered morning’s gentle call
Rose into daybreak’s light
Deny the night where slumber pass
And met with daylight’s fight
The onslaught hard upon me fell
Relentless in it's stay
I captured full aggression’s blow
For nothing barred the way
Foul the air contention fraught
This battle drawing near
My hands took on surrender’s pose
And charged my words with tears
But forfeit mercy’s lenient draw
Devote not pride this choice
My words there echoed empty halls
I stayed there in my voice
This campaign’s boast triumphant not
To senses deaf and blind
I bow my head to ruin’s call
And take the fault as mine.
He carried no substance, yet the impression was given that substance was replete.
Yes, he wore the thin skin of someone possessing that thick quality.
Tall, shoulders broad... vision such that he wore black, horn rimmed glasses.
But what was implied as “substance,” was nothing more than a disappointing appearance.
You see, his brain lacked momentum.
Decreasing. Dull and lackluster…
thoughts and processes dripped from this frail organ
as cold molasses, slowly poured from the spigot of a chilled bottle.
Painfully, it congeals, spools together, and slowly puddles grimy mud.
This cold mass of a sickening, brown conglomeration...
completing a sticky spill on a dirty floor, leaving traces of neglect
And blotches of discontent.
One man walks a lonely road.
Surrounded by the empty sky and beckoning palms,
his journey takes but a few steps within a world
of exploding leaps and bounds.
He ponders his insignificance, and briefly slows his stride.
He turns his head to view his path, the trail of prints he’s left behind.
Regret wells within his heart… it’s nothing more than dust and earth.
Want not a life of ease, for passive spirits lie in wait
Flagging, sleeping in the distance, procrastinating
Drowsy from inactivity
They fold their pale hands and wish for more
Craving hunger consumes a soul as fire begs the air
Death proceeds to take them all
The fire dies, and souls concede.