Dreams Of A Statue Boy

On a trip, to a museum I was.
There a statue, made of grey stone I saw.
Statue of a little boy.
In his hands holding a jar.
Filled with fireflies, was that jar.
And at it, he was looking.
I looked into his eyes, which were telling me something.
In his eyes were some dream.
They told me that, he wants to walk.
The boy made of grey stone.
He lives in museum, standing alone.
And loneliness, makes him cry.
And no one hear his any moan.
He wants to go out, and enjoy the open air.
And birds sitting on trees he wants to stare.
And look at roses, and in winter, girly red noses.
And a friend, to them, everything to share.
And catch fireflies himself.
And put them in the jar.
And he wishes that he had a home with a shelf.
To put that jar on.
And sleep when he's tired of standing.
But he wishes what is against the nature.
Because he is just a stone made creature. 

Beautiful Art


To mind comes

The image of a statue

Woman on a pedestal

Perfect and true


As I look upon her

I see what I believed

The sculpture must have seen

When this woman was conceived


Flawless body soft skin

Every angle and curve perfect

Permanently pristine in every way

And upon her I do reflect


She’s the woman of your dreams

Every mans desire

The gaze of her stony eyes

Sets the coldest heart to fire


Still she sits without a move

She’s not human, that’s plain to see

Yet she sits on the pedestal

It’s easy to believe it’s not me



Written on

May 22, 2007

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I wrote this one because at the time, Paul was seeming to seek perfection from me. Now I know otherwise but at the time I really did think so.

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