Poems

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗜𝗦𝗧

a glistening sculpture; ich am
a piece treasured by many
comparable to none is minen beauty
details carved with such delicacy
min whole being screaming elegance

and thou; a well-known sculptor
forming whatever the heart desires
correcting features to fit thy type
creator and enhancer; most says
a menacingly intimidating man indeed

many hast fallen; not in thy mercy
but the wrath of those haunting eyes of youres
carmine orbs that seek the imperfections
void of the merit the pieces brim
thou sir; art undeniably every sculpture's downfall

ich, a work of art deemed the most stately
was chosen by thee—a man of perfection
i foresaw to be changed, humiliated
but t'was nothing but a misapprehension
for i was handled with such grace
sculpted to supremacy; ic brimmed with confidence

thou once sat with mi by the garden
sharing gur visions of ous in the future
smiles laid on top of the other
rocking chairs facing horizons
as the sun began to set; new memories arose
if i am not mistaken; a perpetual bliss, this is

but all good things come to an end
decorated with scattered carves and marks
ic watched thou walk away; leaving trails of minen ivory
path different from what thee promised

and now—ic lay flat on the cold floor
thy seat empty as ich reminisce
the sky roaring mi apologies
as it is; the vessel of eower hidden agendas
watching thee tear mi apart as it flaunts his class
loneliness and grief seeping in as thee—
a sculptor; left mi, not in min best version
but with wounds beyond repair