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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Disasters, Delights and Other Detours - 96. Stone Heart

Sometimes terrible magic turns a heart to stone. Sometimes it's bad decisions. You can tell me what you think.

The saint eternal in his niche

has lost the words to pray

through countless seasons now unscrolled

in sunny skies or grey,

nor does he know which month is which

though bees and birds might play

before his visage, hard and cold,

that lovers might dismay.

 

His robes no longer catch the breeze,

no sparkle glints his eye,

nor cheerful tune can pass those lips

since chipped in years gone by

and flashing smiles have ceased to tease

or arched brows mystify

that stone cold heart that too few keys

unlocked to laugh or sigh.

 

Yet what is marble once breathed in

The scented springtime air,

And in the green grass knew so well

a twinned love coupled there,

for such was blessing and no sin,

a gift most precious rare;

yet orthodoxy broke the spell

and trapped him in its snare.

 

What miracles he might have wrought

are unremembered now,

and lips that burned with kisses sweet

lie far beneath the plow;

for what affection might have bought

or yearning could avow,

a pinchbeck piety did cheat

to form his stony brow.


I'm ever grateful to @AC Benus for his input and encouragement with this and many other poems. Any reflection or comment you may have is always welcome.
Copyright © 2017 Parker Owens; All Rights Reserved.
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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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One of your best, Parker, this ode to a forgotten marble saint, once human. Dare I say a masterpiece wrought from words? :worship: 

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Personally, I see a saint's statue in the exterior niche of a church. He's posed to gaze down on a young couple lounging on the verdant grass. These are the things he's feeling  

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While I agree with AC, I also see the stifling, constricting effects of religion. A faith which might profess love but only the one that fits. A visual, thoughtful poem, like so many you offer us. 😘

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4 hours ago, Headstall said:

One of your best, Parker, this ode to a forgotten marble saint, once human. Dare I say a masterpiece wrought from words? :worship: 

The marble saint watches from his place, but cannot participate in anything he sees. You’re very kind to have read this, and I’m grateful for your  comments. 

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3 hours ago, AC Benus said:

Personally, I see a saint's statue in the exterior niche of a church. He's posed to gaze down on a young couple lounging on the verdant grass. These are the things he's feeling  

Indeed, the stone saint can see the couple on the grass, and doing such things as he dared not consider. He turned away and turned to stone, long before the carver lifted his chisel. Thanks so much for reading this, and for encouraging me. 

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3 hours ago, northie said:

While I agree with AC, I also see the stifling, constricting effects of religion. A faith which might profess love but only the one that fits. A visual, thoughtful poem, like so many you offer us. 😘

I’m so glad you can see the scene and the saint in his churchyard niche. The saint turned to stone in his heart, made cold by dogma or circumstance long before his heart stopped beating. Thank you so very much for reading and responding to this. 

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Excellent poem.  The human the saint once was, turned to stone in multiple ways.  Thanks for sharing it with us.  I think I'm finally caught up now :P  

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1 hour ago, Valkyrie said:

Excellent poem.  The human the saint once was, turned to stone in multiple ways.  Thanks for sharing it with us.  I think I'm finally caught up now :P  

He might have remained true to his heart and flesh and blood, but turned instead to dogma that neither warms nor lives. You’re right: there are many kinds of stone. Thanks for reading all these and for your comments! 

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Were it not for the knowing this saint was made of marble I might suspect him one of the stone-hearted living "saints" more concerned with dogma. Why is it I wonder that humans seem so compelled to bind the divine with rules of our own making and demanding that ours is the only true path.

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2 hours ago, ancientrichard said:

That beautifully sums up my perception of sainthood

I suppose I should not tar every saint with my brush of opprobrium. If the historical record is correct, there were a number of saints whose lives were examples of mercy, justice, love, and generosity. These are the ones best remembered. Those whose lives were models of severity seem to be mostly forgotten, or so it appears to me. Thanks very much for taking time to read this one, and for your comments.

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1 hour ago, dughlas said:

Were it not for the knowing this saint was made of marble I might suspect him one of the stone-hearted living "saints" more concerned with dogma. Why is it I wonder that humans seem so compelled to bind the divine with rules of our own making and demanding that ours is the only true path.

Thank you so much for your comments. Your feelings echo my own. I sometimes wonder whether some of our contemporaries think Saint Peter was given duplicate keys to heaven, and that they somehow inherited a set.   But what I think most of all is that it’s incredibly sad no one will remember a person for how strict or forbidding one was, but rather for the deep and broad love one showed. Blessings and thanks.

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Hmm. This one can be taken a number of ways. But as a commentary on the state of our belief system today, with its many splinters, chasms, and rifts, and its seeming complete turn away from its roots, it's quite stirring. How much of what was been written in the past with powerful and good intentions has been weaponized today and used to batter those who do not fit into some splinter's narrow and self-interpreted views?

What saint could observe where things have gone - and where they are still going - with any sort of warmth?

Thanks for another great read. :)

 

 

 

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