"art, speaking"
under a golden chandelier
the light illuminated the history painted on your face;
brush strokes retelling stories of you:
bitter and melancholy,
beautiful and foretelling.
your bones creak as your hands, sculpted from marble
caress my fading face.
you don't know me but you want to,
all the parts of me hidden under the varnish.
maybe you can tear away the layers,
restore me without destroying me.
maybe you'll be the greatest artist that ever lived
if you can make me beautiful again.
YOU ARE READING
Cornucopia
PoetryWelcome to the Poets Pub!! This collection is for poems our members have written and would like to share with everyone. For all the details read on...
