Osiris

Distant crags are gleaming in the morning

folds of marble softness fall gently round

the poise and beauty of the craftsman's thought

a chisel scars by a flickering candle

and is told on the pages of a child's heart

that she might become a woman.

The nearby tower, square and solemn

and lovely in its warm, grey brown

mesmerizes with the memory of others

and of the solid substance of daydreams

from which the painted land was hazy and blue

a fortress is set up around her longing

round her barbed and broken heart.

Broken stones whisper of forgotten kings

in mangled heaps on windy hilltops

or scattered there below the sidwalks

Born in the stumbling stubborness of shadows

a fossilized wound does not ache until

a broken sword of stone is plunged

into its fleshy depths.

Rocks break blindly on one another

pounding in the darkness, splintering, screaming,

hearing

it is the triumph of a little story

that the words form "I forgive you" a

and the cyclic triumph of a greater story

that the sculptor is unleashed.

#Poetry #Forgiveness