Green Stone

Digging through the fine sediment

He searches

Groping and sifting

Searching for the lost gem

That glimmering ideal

 

It was as if a piece of his soul was missing

That part of him that allowed him to relate

To feel

He had become the thing he hated most

That stone faced edifice

Cold and judgmental

 

Uncaring of the world around him

He once said

If you want to be jaded

Then be so

And turn to stone

So he did

 

The pain and anger he felt

Were ingested

Pulled down deep

To a point of pure isolation

And so he chained himself with them

Leaving them both alone and deserted

 

And still the burnt fingers sift

His gem

His key

His humanity

It must be somewhere in the sand

This sand

That keeps falling from the heavens

 

The statue

Green with envy

Has a small tear sliding down the face

 

In his island called isolation

Trapped in the hourglass

His ever spinning purgatory

He searches desperately for some hope

Some chance at salvation

 

He was tired of being the pristine representation

The perfect manifestation

Of the dead nerve ending

 

As the sore fingers closed

On something other than sand

The statue smiled

Shooting cracks through the face

Carved of green stone

05/09/2012

Author's Note

0237 am

Reviews

[...]

Oh! This is such a poignant piece of poetry. I can feel it in my gut because I know someone who is exactly like the person you describe. He is badly missing the humanity inside him.