harp

[That's funny, because I immediately thought of the verb too.

When I sat down to work on this one, I kept thinking of connections - to the other words of the day, to my own silly perceptions, etc. I shied away at first, thinking that the point was to explore this singular word within art as an almost isolated case, without tainting it with the pettiness of shallow comparison (it starts with H, oh, another stringed instrument, all of these are nouns but lots double as verbs too). I thought this all to be cluttering and not very helpful or artistic. But I realized that I understand through connections and I create through understanding (or at least with the goal of understanding), so exploring connections, no matter how simple, isn't cheating, but deepening.
But enough talk of methodology.]


I wanted a picture
an image to share
but "thou hast harped my fear aright"
and I must write instead,
my limitations plague me

she's a vision
broken, beautiful, pathetic
a stone angel, gray and marbled
stained by the years
tainted both by weather and by human hand
her smooth complexion scarred
chipped away gradually by the harshness of nature
the elements descending viciously on man's construction.
she gazes softly, sadly
through cold, dead eyes
deprived of her music long ago by bitter vandals
bent on torturing this ideal reflection of
GOD ON EARTH
and stealing a gleam of her otherwise perfect goodness.
but most notable is not the arbitrary wounds of a place in the sun
the standard wear and tear of age
but the careful line of nicks
no doubt done purposefully
inflicted repeatedly
again
and again
and again
and again
sequentially down her robe to her leg
impeccable little marks
slowly tearing her apart.
even made of stone
and especially made of flesh
we are not made to bear the scraping
suffer the hacking
endure the slow pain of a widening crack
tiny dints of attack
they grow
and we too will crumble and fall.