Into the Flesh, the Stone

Maybe is a word used often in all my thoughts but we were never a maybe, we were written in polished marble, carved into stone. They will marvel at our love in years past, critique gazing ever so infatuated at our love, masters of old long forgotten. Old masters could never reach the level of detail and sophistication as us.

So sad we were everything only meant to be nothing.

No stone could bleed like this.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My community

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