to love you, dear,
is to love a work of marble.
i'll spend all i am
to build you up from nothing
and i'll waste all my hours
sculpting you a smile.
when at last you're a real man
and i've played god
as best as one artist can
they'll marvel at your beauty
not seeing all your flaws and dents.
in your alabaster glory
the masses will forget
that once you were no more
then shapeless material
brought to life by my hands and chisels.
to love you, dear,
is to love a work of marble.
and everyone loves art and artists
but a statue loves nothing and no one
no matter how or who they're sculpted.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
YOU ARE READING
the poetry garden《a poetry collection》
Poetry"The flowers are dead But still, they remember The girl who bled Words, not red As she lay down to die Right on the flowers bed." An ever-growing collection of heartfelt poems.
