Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘sculpture’

Spokes on the spinning wheel now roar with fire.
Who says stones don’t burn and not ever retire?
Wind cuts the craft when tossed with art in dust,
Every stroke on this wheel rhymes that holy gyre.

What has begun in the dark soul of an unknown,
Also ends among the witnesses of most known.
Spoke to spoke now not touch but push to move
The rim of our life, the realm of an unending love.

Light writes the sculpture, else nothing means
The desire we stand before and stare in love.

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

Petals of roses, petals of crimson hues so ancient
Laid now on these solemn words of this world.
Was I in a dream, or was I well treading through
The feathers and tossed among the wings of angels?
There are now stones thrown on paltry sculptures
And fear reaming through the veins of that victory.
What was the dream? What was the dream?
Shouted the old man on the same crossroad.
If we can pause, if we can breathe the same air
we started our journey, and touch of the breeze.

We fake to whom if not the soul, to gather hope
To face the truth of that dream we love so much.
Our journey can’t be an epitaph over that stone
If not the honest air among the moonlit nights.
Settle O’ soul, there’s so much peace in passion;
There’s the possibility of life when we are gone.
I will write again, take hues from those petals
And hymn though the marble into the sculpture.

Hope is in those eyes that surround us all through.
We will rise again to peace and fall again in love.

Read Full Post »

I stand on this rock and touch the wind.

Here’s a satin draped sculpture in this corner
Of the garden of greatness, cold and white
In marble looking through the tinted threads
Into the hustles of heralded humans murmur.
Seasons do not come and go, but we venture
Through the times wanting to see even more.
We choose to crawl, then walk and part away
To find the light in dark and search each other.

I stand on this rock and touch the wind.

A witness to the winter? The smell of spring?
The torrid tremors of times beaten into gold.
I wish this journey could find me everything,
I wish we never be born again nor grow old,
But stand on this rock and touch the wind.

It’s the wind that will live this love’s tale forever
It’s the rock that will breathe light, life and love.
It’s every beat of the heart that life will choose
To touch every smile on those cold marble lips.
Be the wind that touches you now, be the rock
That teaches you to get carved by time alone.

I stand on this rock and touch the wind.

Read Full Post »

Sand and stone flakes join and move fast into the eyes of time.
There is much music, the same ancient air that touched the genius.
I will not talk about the empire of gold that is dead, doesn’t rhyme
To our today, nor will pass to coming times with reason or rehearse.
It’s the same waves that touch the land of immortal art, of infinite
Life that segues through the rocks, through the music cast on stone.

There are percussions of chiseled moments, there is a known gloom,
When you stand before the Chariot of Sun with seven white horses
With wings of life, so ready for the flight and spring of life to bloom.
Sculpted emotions on these stones like a bouquet of eternal roses
Stand through the time, to reach every soul, to guide every journey.

I stand not like a saint but with infant steps, trying to feel the stone,
Feel the flakes, the wind from the sea that fills my vision and my soul.
To hear aloud the songs of my countrymen, touch the fabric of our own.
Like love, art too stands free, only eyes change and feel they hold it all.
If I could stay witness forever and tell this story to all lives that live;
This light that burns our ignorance, and endures more love to give.

Read Full Post »