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Angels in the Stone
The scholars have talked
Of discarding their minds
The soldiers are getting tipsy
And falling out of line
And don’t you dare hope
Because hope is a crime
Just put on the kettle
And evaporate time
The wind-up bird is not bird
Till it’s dreamt of open sky
A prophet’s not a martyr
Till he’s murdered by a lie
As God’s retelling history
On the surface of His eye
You’ll have to wait in the waiting room
And wait to live or die
The very hand which wrote the law
That men are born of dust
Has pinned us to our bodies
To sanctify the trust
But half a man is hollowness
And the other half is lust
In the balance is existence
The kind that’s kind of just
In the heavy heart of darkness
Every child is left alone
Until the sunrise reaches to their eyes
And the light of life is shown
The autumn farmer is harvesting
To eat of what he’s grown
And Michelangelo is chiseling
To free an angel from the stone
Though the doctrines be forgotten
Though the holy books are moldering
Hope still dreams of flying
And freedom is still smoldering
The stars are singing dirges
And fading into the void
The midnight moon is mourning
The Sun is overjoyed
So you who sit in prisons
And wrestle for your own
May half the truth be hidden
And the other half be known
As your spirit yearns for fresher air
As your body turns to bone
Scratch at the walls till you see the stars
Or the angels in the stone
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This article has 30 comments.
Ha, I'm an awkward person all around, so some of that is always channeled into my poetry. That line, I think, was not a careless error, but a horrid misuse of poetic repetition. I'm glad you pointed it out, though, as I can do my best to learn from it.
Many thanks for your constructive criticism.
I bribe the editor, employing my unbelievable charm, as well as pretzels and assorted candy treats. The editor can't help but give in. ;)
Says our friend Michelangelo, "I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free." Beautiful, is it not?