Doors turn to stone.
Words sear skin.
Rock windows stand
where light once played.
Walls that let angry arrows through
become stone too.
No one gets in.
No one gets
out.
Pieces moving inside
stop.
I am only stone.
Doors turn to stone.
Words sear skin.
Rock windows stand
where light once played.
Walls that let angry arrows through
become stone too.
No one gets in.
No one gets
out.
Pieces moving inside
stop.
I am only stone.
Talking to the Clouds 
I love this! Very nice 😀
Thank you!
Oh wow. There’s a certain straightforwardness in the choice of imagery that makes it sound so natural and common-sense, and yet, not really. Because their is an evident intelligence (not so common!) in the way the images depict the concept, no more, no less. Such a short poem and yet so potent. I should learn how to do this too. I’m glad I visited!
Thank you very much for stopping by and for you comments. They are much appreciated 🙂