Alphabet Soup Minuscule

J.C. Scheff

Distant Parts

Frayed dirty laces,
Stained lips,
Knotted up like muscles.

A statue crumbles, slowly.
Bits and pieces now lie,
In distant parts,
at her granite feet.

Fingers held out, tingling.
Not able to grasp;
What’s there for it to see?

In the heat,
It still feels cold to the touch.
Lifeless, worn,
Nothing but an antique.

What has made it crumble?
Warm hands work to correct a mess.
While others only watch.


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