Tales from the pen 👄 - The bleeding statue. Poetry


The Bleeding Statue



A humid day,

The right disguise.

A trail of tears migrate down

My stone

-y brow.

For you dream still

With smoky eyes

And I stare at you,


Preferring your side,

Covered in moss-

Rolling or not

A thought made of stone.

A great surprise

cos' you’re alive.


It’s not fair on me,

You’re beautifully made

Your chiselled, warm cheeks

Dominate my dreams

I stand so close

As you stare at the space

Above my crown, your perfect face!

And chiselled cheeks - pointed feet

Your smoky eyes

Isn’t that wry?


Gargoyle heart, why?

Why dark smoky eyes?

Do they mask the fire?

The oven beside

Clay pots of desire

What a surprise!

The shape of our fate

The fate of our world

We dare not tempt fortune

Or Fate would rise

For Earth spins still

And time doesn’t ride

But in our dreams, will

With the past

Come hurtling in

To show our mistakes,

In broad daylight

When eyes grow dim

But dilate with surprise.

Stand perfectly still while

My dreams of you turn

To stone

My gargoyle

You bear no mark

or makers sign


That he’d watch my heart break

While I curse awhile

Cos you can’t see me,

Yet you’re alive!

Your medusa cries,

And you’re surprised

Her lightning bolt,

Yet you’re alive

Well, I’m surprised.

I love you, you!

Dearly, I do,

My cries are loud! My heart grows numb,

It bleeds despair in puddles broad,

Adores your smile while her cracks enlarge

Like grand gorges, my perfect skin!

This humid day, I bleed within

Moisturise!

Perfect disguise

My tears run miles

My! You’re surprised

Your quivering lips -please stay awhile!




The night comes close.

Museum shutters rub door post.

The Bleeding Statue

Will be taken down 
Tomorrow.

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