Stone

Oh cold proud David man of rock
In human form yet godly stock
Perfection cut by art’s fair hand
A sculpted life you stone cold stand

Our flaws are where true beauty lies
The mirrored love in someone’s eyes
For man in his reality
By nature made imperfectly

The life I carve not marble pure
My surface rough is home to spore
Organic stained the lichen marks
Not stone but blemished beaten heart

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Author: thepoetautist

A Gay poet of fifty odd years who is currently living in Cambodia.

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