Rose Marble

[beserkerbob]

Poetry is too easy to write! It makes it hard to write fiction.

The marble feels so strong,
bathed in heavy sunlight,
scorching to the touch.
I wonder how those lines
cut their way through the silica--
pink and flashes of blue.
I’ve tried to make my own way in,
too slow to realize that my bone
and blood
are too weak, and feel the heat
more--brutally.
The master craftsman
chipped it away,
intentionally leaving flaws
for character, and shading in sunlight,
or moonlight.
Many attempt to imitate the craftsman,
adding their own curves and notches,
all beautiful, but not the same.
Creations of motionless marble,
with more character, and feeling,
than we--
Rose marble, smooth, strong, and hot.