From A Word To A Stone
Sometimes when you look
at a word, it hastens,
stiffens, comes back partially
to life, and then still dies...
I should have thrown you
out, with the best of them,
These Poems are dead - hear me..,
And your mind just wants to dress up,
real fancy! ,
No weight in the Sun
to float by,
Squeezing some image
in your mind's fist
until it bleeds,
Can you feel it now,
all that mystery
about to unleash itself,
It's all about devices!
And you this frozen clock
about to stop,
face all dirty
with the numbers gone,
It's like there nothing
inside you, but the voice,
safe bricks of speech,
These reanimated inventions
makes sculptors out of stones,
But that's all,
And the Sea is mightily dry,
and the Sun wet for extinction...
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Comments about this poem (From A Word To A Stone by GRANT FRASER )
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