Glass

As glass is still soft
In the hands of its craftsman
It bends
It twists
It takes what shapes are wanted of it
It trusts
Inhaling deeply
With his every exhale
It gives
It waits
It fights
It surrenders

As the heat retreats
And his hands, satisfied,
Finally let it be,
Not a breath disturbs its stillness
It rests
Beautifully ripe
Naked
Complete
Done

As time goes
It will gift many
Exposing itself
To the touch by soiled fingers
Of a bargaining buyer
To the greedy look
Of its ultimate admiring possessor
Set still in its one and only shape
That same shape
In which it will one day
Be broken


Рецензии
Why is it always like that: "exposing...", "possessor...", "broken..."? Why can't an independent, self-assured glass look forward to a long and productive life as a cornerstone of a crystal castle or something? Sorry, didn't mean to make light of your metaphors – satire is my only antidote against the wave of guilt and remorse for the trail of broken... glass in my wake that your poem triggered.

Велиандр   02.09.2013 00:46     Заявить о нарушении
No it's not "always" like that. Just sometimes. :) Perhaps it's more written about than the alternative? People may write about pain and concern so much partly because those are the cheapest ways to be heard. Try to write about peaceful sunsets or autumn leaves. That takes talent because it's hard to get the reader to get excited by the bare beauty of the written word. There are fewer of such readers out there, too. But everyone thinks they can write about child abuse or religious hypocrisy. Strong social message, a few strong words, and everyone relates.

A cornerstone of a crystal castle? I like that too, let's see where that takes me. :) I'm very glad to hear your heart-felt response!

Евгения Саркисьянц   02.09.2013 05:13   Заявить о нарушении
На это произведение написаны 2 рецензии, здесь отображается последняя, остальные - в полном списке.