The Sculptor Who Breathed Stone
Calmly breathing while I looked on
The Sculptor Who Breathed Stone
Stone trembled under his hands,
folding into faces
that whispered silently
through the marble veins.
The hammer moved itself,
pressing rhythm into the walls,
and I felt the dust
curling around my chest like smoke.
Eyes emerged slowly,
frozen yet alive,
staring into corners
where light could not reach.
Even the chisels hummed,
pressing vibrations
into the floor,
like a heartbeat pressed into stone.
I touched a cheek,
and it shivered,
folding centuries
into my fingertips.
The room breathed quietly,
filled with shapes
that were never meant to exist,
and I realized
art could remember the living.
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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Comments (1)
What a great description of a sculptor with their sculpture. Good job.