The tale of your neighborhood Idol

“Sand precipitate,
Like the reflection of
A Cumulused pregnant sky,
I sit like a lump
At your feet,
Existing empty, but still,
not just Being.
Shored up
In multitudes,
I, too, am one of a kind, really.
That unnoticed…and then again.
When you do
Pick me up, perchance,
It is, maybe,
My potent serene energy
That turns you on,
To put chisel down my front.
It is, maybe,
Your observation
That i do not bleed, then,
That elevates me
And makes me
Yet another
Sad, lonely God
In a golden, morbid shrine.”


3 thoughts on “The tale of your neighborhood Idol

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