~-...-~
Oh, I am no alabaster angel
Carved out of the white stone,
Every man's daydream
Coming into reality.
I am that slab of the scarred marble,
Lying between the flowers.
Bedimmed to the common eye,
But an oasis for those lovers,
A piece of peace to the reader,
A muse to the poet.
Perhaps, that's what I am.
Waiting for the sincere Ivy
to reach those scars and marks,
Those gashes, so naked and visible,
Those which define me
As a marble, as a rock.
Waiting for it to engulf me
In a real hug of those sculpted emerald leaves,
So that in this world so faux,
I'm a bed of pure rooted petrichor.
~-...-~
Please VOTE!! ❤️❤️ And Thanks for reading!
आप पढ़ रहे हैं
Cottage Chronicles
कविताLife's chronicles from love, sorrow, anger, guilt, shame, happiness buried in a poetic cipher. Would you like some words and wine, on wooden floorboards? ©️ Feronia Grey
