Would that I could write so…
“I saw the angel in the marble and I carved until I set him free.”
~ Michelangelo ~
I cry out to the Sculptor but he does not hear me from within the stone.
This tomb is cold and dark and heavy.
My words echo endlessly, repeating, repeating, growing quieter with each pass.
My feet cannot move, my hands are paralyzed, my lungs crushed against the weight.
My eyes are permanently open, yet see nothing but darkness.
I wait. Within the stone. Alone.
I was born once, and lived.
I was born once, and loved.
I was born once, and lost.
Now I wait to be found.
Now I wait to be birthed.
Now I wait to be heard.
Now I wait to be free.
He chips away steadily, with purpose,
until my feet are created upon a well-muscled pair…
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